U.S.C. SAVVAL - The path of the ooze.

[Amazee Dayzee]

Really nice work on this chapter! It is very awesome!

[Welsh Halfwit]

Can you guess what Mr George's secret?

[Amazee Dayzee]

Can I phone a friend for a hint?

[Welsh Halfwit]

SIXTEEN

“I’ve been thinking about the founding of the Council recently,” Hawthorne said, looking at the other two in the MacCrimmon’s conference room. “After crossing into the sliver of Mican space.” She gazed into the eyes of the Celican Commander of the Frigate and the Collian on the other side of the table. She smirked slightly. “I think they’d appreciate how far we’ve come.”

“I’d be more certain of that,” Commander Talbar replied bitterly, “if we weren’t still patching up the effects of a mine. Strange thing is those mines are usually much more powerful.”

“That,” Grovan said, before taking a drink of water in a way designed to lengthen the tension, “is because it was never meant to destroy anyone.” He put the glass down. “It’s a stalling game. If it hadn’t hit you, it would have hit one of us. And stopped us. Not destroyed us. Stopped us. We’d have needed to repair and go slowly. It could have set us back weeks.”

“Someone damaged my ship to delay you,” Talbar growled, putting his hands on the table and beginning to push himself upwards. “What the HELLS is so important about you two?”

“Safer you don’t know, believe me,” Hawthorne replied, wishing she didn’t mean it.

“Besides which, something else is going on,” Grovan advised. “The Micans are acting… Squirrelly. And I don’t entirely mean unlike the Jondahl,” he continued, meaning the Squirrel-people who rarely left their world any more, save for a few like the one on Aldair’s ship. They’d once had a controlling aspect, meaning they acted as one until the Fauntleroy had destroyed it. “There’s a fleet in that nebula,” Grovan added, “I’m sure of it.”

“But why would the Micans want a fleet there,” Hawthorne asked, spreading her hands, “there’s no-one there to fight.”

“If you have an army,” Talbar groused, “there’s always a way to find someone to fight. There’s always a NEED for it. The Mican economy is based around a strong Military and large families. Have you seen the graveyards and the battle memorials?”

Hawthorne nodded sadly. “There are rather a lot of them.”

“And more Mican ones per capita than any other race. It’s taken until now for the numbers to recover to pre war numbers.”

Hawthorne looked aghast. “You think they plan to start a war?”

The Celican shrugged. “Can’t say. We have no real proof. I’ll pass on what you found to intelligence and see what they say. As for now? We’re officially a bit delayed but we’ll be at Raitche in an hour.”

“Then we should prepare,” Hawthorne replied, thinking her world had gotten a lot harder these last few weeks. “How are your people, by the way,” she asked.

“Hmm? Oh, none too badly wounded,” the Full Commander replied. “Medical teams are coping.”

“I’ll pass the compliment on,” Hawthorne stated, standing up before remembering the Celican was her superior officer and waited on him to dismiss them.


Cheel had to admit that she was getting excited. Not quite for the reason the others thought she was excited for, though. They thought it was just the finances she was after and, to a certain extent, they were right. But this was what her family had sacrificed for. It was what they’d considered more important than staying with her and she had something of a twinge of pleasure at the idea of having it taken away from them. She’d make use of it. Maybe… twenty percent to charity? Nah. Fifteen. After she worked out how much she was going to have, anyway. She sighed happily to herself and thought she might even keep some of it on the ship and allow Plebar to use it in negotiations or something? Oh, there were a mad list of things she could do with the funds that were shortly to be available to her.

“You know she’s going to try to convince you to return it, don’t you,” Denver asked her from the command seat as the screen showed them creeping closer to Raitche.

“Still tryin’ t’ save a soul I ain’t got,” she replied, not turning away from the screen.

“Oh, you’ve got one, Chayla,” Denver said, slightly mocking the helm Officer. “It’s lightly stained and a bit manky but, under all that, you’ve got one. We see it from time to time and it’s appreciated.”

Chayla felt a balloon of pride rising in her stomach and burped to release it, using the gag reflex system she’d had installed by the council when she’d signed up. A lot of Raitchian Officers did as it was a bit of a pain, being poisoned when you had no gag reflex to help get the bad stuff out. Sure she could naturally resist a lot of toxins but there was always new stuff, weren’t there? Just look at the stuff they were hauling now, she thought.

“Classy as always,” Denver chided. “Still doesn’t stop you from having one, Chayla.”

“Stops people bangin’ on about it though, sir,” she replied, tapping a few icons and flipping switches as they finally began to close on homeworld. “Orbit first,” she muttered, “then go get stinkin’ rich.”

“Heard that. And I wouldn’t mention your, uh, windfall, whilst our guests are onboard? After all, they are IOC officers.”

Cheel grumbled to herself as a darker mood descended on her. He’d HAD to mention the cloud that obscured her silver lining, hadn’t he?



“So we’re shuttling up,” Minika asked, standing next to her small pile of luxury luggage in the private area of Raitche’s secondary spaceport. She sniffed at the cardboard cup of… was it Coffee or tea or Hot Juice? She really couldn’t tell. She also couldn’t tell what the logo on the cup was supposed to be. It certainly wasn’t a major brand. Hayley had said they were going from here because of budgetary constraints but, if she’d known it would be this much of a fleapit, she’d have used longer lasting shampoo in the shower this morning. She tapped the cup. “And what IS this?”

Hayley picked up her own cup and swallowed the contents before scowling. “Drinkable,” she replied. She coughed. “Probably. Best you don’t try it, eh? Sure you got everything?” She put the cup in the recycling bin. “How can you have so much anyhow? When you arrived on Raitche you had near nothing.”

“A good agent must know how to accessorize, Hayley.” The Lappinean wiggled her eye ridges. “And people do like to buy me things on nights out.”

“Aye,” the Packer said with a twinge of sarcasm. “And they pay you later too.”

“Fringe benefit, my roomie. Fringe benefit.” She glanced out of the window as the Savval shuttle touched down. “Our ride is here. Let’s go find out what happened to Agent Straw, eh?”

[Amazee Dayzee]

I love all of the content that you poured into this chapter here! It really is a big delight!

[Welsh Halfwit]

SEVENTEEN

“I’m not best happy about this,” Hadrian said as the operatives from the Council base on Raitche checked into every crevice and visible container in the storage bay, scanning and rodding with their equipment as the Cervidian watched over them. “Captain,” he added quickly.

“I can’t imagine why you would be, Deputy,” Hawthorne replied, keeping her tone professional despite the fact her eye line was directly at his upper chest level. “There’s a lot not to be happy about. For a start,” she added, turning to face him, “your Captain Postain and Postlethwaite arranging an ambush on us to rid yourself of a problem.”

“Aw, hey,” he said, trying to placate her, “they wouldn’t do…”

“They can,” she insisted, “and they did. If we weren’t stopped by that cruiser, YOU wouldn’t be here. And you had your transfer orders in place.” She looked at him askew. “How were you supposed to get to us, Mr Jak?” She waved away the explanation he was about to give. “Oh, don’t worry, I know you didn’t have anything to do with it… Well, I’m pretty sure you didn’t have anything to do with it but I’m going to have some pretty savage words for that pair when we get back, y’know?”

Hadrian accepted the situation with a graceful nod and kept the thoughts of a kit like her ‘savaging’ Postain and Postlethwaite as like a three inch Pallik attacking a pair of oak trees with it’s non existent teeth. “Might I ask what the next item is? You did say ‘for a start’, Captain.”

“Hmm, so I did. Second thing is, once you’ve found one listening device…”

“...assume there are others.” He agreed. “It’s good advice.”

“Got it from a good person,” Hawthorne said, pulling a slim book from her pocket that he recognised, from his college level Lappinean, read ‘Jaqui Pangal’s notes and tips.’ “Chief on my cousin’s ship.”

“Thought I recognised the name.”

Now she was a little surprised. She looked him in the eye again, just to be sure. “No contacts,” she told him. “You can read Lappinean?”

“Only to college level,” he confessed, “and it was a few years back.” He paused for a second. “Can I borrow that? Tips from a Chief might help my career and it’ll help my Lappinean too. And I’m not senior enough for the translator contacts.”

“Mr Jak, right now you’re the senior security officer on the ship. Even if it’s acting. Flass has a pair. When you get a chance, get along to Doctor Quella to get a pair of lenses. I’m not having the mission blown because your Raitchian isn’t up to snuff.”

“High school,” he replied. “Same for Mican. Hey,” he called out as one of the searchers got a little too close to the hidden container, “you don’t need to check there.” The searcher nodded and moved away.


Flass, for her part, was escorting the two IOC agents to their quarters and refusing to believe the tall, over sleek, Lappinean was an agent in any way. The dour, down dressed, Raitchian was definitely more like the sort of federal Cop she’d met, although the flares were a bit stupid. She’d noticed Cheel watching them from behind a bulkhead close to the teleport control booth and wondered what the Wharf rat was up to now? She opened the first door and advised the Lappinean she was in here. “Hayley, dearest,” Minika said, looking into the room, “if it were not for your bubble car, I would never have been prepared for a room this small.”

“Oh, I’ll take compliments about my car wherever I can get them,” Hayley responded, thinking how her Lappinean ‘best’ friend’s luggage wouldn’t fit in here easily.

“Well, it does get so few. But this will suffice. It is only for a night or so.” She stepped in and turned around, slapping her eartips against the top of the door frame. “I take it everything is correctly wired in, Officer,” she asked sweetly.

Flass could understand how she got males – and, probably, some females – to do whatever she wanted. The smile was infectious and confirmed by her eyes. If she wasn’t paranoid enough to know it was a trick… “Everything’s connected, yes...”

“Good,” Minika said, stepping back so the door closed


“She really an agent,” Flass asked Hayley as they stepped next door. “What with that tag she’s hiding and all?”

Hayley supposed she should give the truth. Or, at least, some of it. “Yeah, she’s a probationary,” she admitted. “Still has some contacts on Lapas who might well come in useful in this so she’s with us.”

“Still probably not a good idea to let her wander the ship without an escort.”

Hayley snorted. “I’M her escort? Tracker’s set to tell me when she’s more than twenty feet from me and locates her.” She let Flass open her door. “We’ll meet with the Captain when settled in,” she said, phrasing it more as a question than an instruction.

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted.” Flass stepped back so the door closed.

Hayley looked at her room and thought on it happily. It reminded her of her student digs, but with less litter in the corners and fewer padds on shelves. She could get quite used to this,” she thought, laying herself down on the bed.


Minika sampled the replicated tea and thought it a serious step up from the thing she’d almost tasted down at the spaceport about thirty minutes ago. At least it tasted like Lapasgrass blend. She propped herself up on the bed and opened up the one bag she’d been allowed to bring with her. She had her travelling clothes in there and laid out a new set for use. She started getting changed before changing her mind, stepping over to the vid and attaching a brooch to the side of the unit via it’s magnetic clasp. Then she pulled on both ends to reveal the middle and scramble the signal from the vidunit so it appeared to be coming from elsewhere. She sat and primped herself until the picture cleared somewhat and an older Lappinean, a much older one, appeared on the screen as it flickered. “Grandfather,” she said simply.

<“Are you still on Raitche,”> the determined voice enquired.

“Leaving now. Aboard the Savval.” She leaned in a touch closer, “so I do hope there are no more mines lying around?”

<“Delays are nothing to do with me,”> he said. <“Do you have any leads for when you get here?”>

“One.” She crossed her legs so the old Lappinean had to close his eyes and look away.

<“Minika!”> he protested, making her grin.

“Oh, sorry, Grandfather,” she said, not meaning it. “We’ve received information that a Milos Krishkan, a Raitchian biologist, may have information. Apparently he’s missing on Lapas. Like Agent Straw…,” she added, almost wistfully.

<“Don’t be too concerned on missing people,”> the elder told her. <“I’ll pull up what I can on the Raitchian. See you later, Minika.”> The line cut out and Minika retrieved her brooch, disabling it before putting it in the bag.

“See you later, Grandfather,” she said, before changing. Hayley would be round soon, she figured.

[Amazee Dayzee]

This certainly was a very interesting chapter that you posted! Always looking forward to more!

[Welsh Halfwit]

EIGHTEEN

Hawthorne watched in silence as the maintenance ship from the U.S.C. engineering base finished the scans of the ship. She was keeping an eye on them out of paranoia, expecting them to try and teleport someone on board or beam something to their own ship. She knew Grovan was keeping his weapons charged out of similar paranoia and she wondered if that made her better than him. Or was it just the fact that he was there, with his weapons powered, that kept her from having hers powered? “Would you use it,” Denver asked and she turned her attention to him. “This ‘medical marvel, I mean? If you were dying and this gel could save your life, would you?”

Hawthorne sighed. “But does it save your life,” she asked, “or create a new one in your place. I’ve seen the scans. This thing alters even brain chemistry. From the limited scans of the Wolf when he was in Savra’s… care? Is that the right word? Indicates severe changes in his personality.” A tiny, wry, smile creaked across her face. “Can you be the same person if your whole appearance and personality have changed? And don’t mention that vidshow,” she added, pointing a finger. “That’s science fantasy. Fiction. Not the same thing at all?”

He put his hands in his lap. “Ah, but isn’t Science Fiction often a precursor to Science fact? I mean energy weapons, space ships, submarines, robots and androids, all of it was dreamed up decades or centuries before they became commonplace.”

“But so were war,” Cheel joined in, having returned from beaming… something… to the secondary cargo bay a few minutes ago. “Ain’t no lim’ts t’ th’ power’ve ‘magination,” she added, “nor no budget, neither.”

“Speaking of budget, Cheel,” Hawthorne replied. “I think we’d better check out what you put in the cargo bay, hmm?” She watched the back of Cheel cringe at the thought. “We need to make sure there’s nothing hazardous to the ship. Or would you rather Flass did it?”

Cheel was up on her feet almost before the name was out of her Captain’s mouth. “No, no. I’d prefer to show you, Cap’n! C’mon!”


Hawthorne caught up to her helm officer halfway down the ship and thought she needed to up her fitness – or was it simply the speed at which the Wharf Rat was going? They stopped at the door and she entered the code. “Change it back immediately,” Hawthorne ordered when she realised it wasn’t the official code.

“I suppose I should,” Cheel replied, typing out the original code on the panel now she’d been ordered.


The pair entered the storage bay that, generally, handled the non-essential stuff. There was no medical equipment here, nor science tech. Bay three was where they kept the short term shipping items and personal effects. Portable beds and emergency food replication systems had been in here three weeks ago, helping with earthquake damage control on Mabellius IX as a gift from Pastellius III. Now there seemed to be boxes in the corner that covered the rear corner. About twenty to thirty feet of it, in fact. Lots of boxes and paintings. A fascinating number of paintings, in fact. Hawthorne was certain she’d seen some of these before. Back in college and in museums. “Chayla,” she said as she gently placed her hand on one of the picture frames, “where did this stuff come from?”

“A hole in the ground, Cap’n,” Cheel remarked glibly. “’Fore that, m’clan picked them up at bargain prices over the decades.”

“I take it there’s no bills of sale to prove that,” Hawthorne remarked with equal glibness. Another sigh. “So long as there’s no knowledge of any of this being contraband, it’s just your personal stuff.” She tapped one of the boxes. “What’s in here,” she asked, scanning the container.

“Cash,” Cheel explained simply. “For use in emergencies. Can be gifted.”

“I think some charities are going to benefit, wouldn’t you say? I can bend the rules only so far and only so long as other ranks don’t find out. I want this stuff off as soon as we get to our destination.” Her voice took on a harder tone. “Am I CLEAR on that, Cheyla?”

The Raitchian nodded. She’d already been checking into the listings for storage on the Rabbit world and there were two within her modest budget range.


Straw sat up in the bed and put his mind to what was wrong. The Nurse had commented that they’d needed to keep the pads on his eyes a little longer when she’d last entered the room and allowed him to take a drink of something that tasted like fruit mixed with water but something was irritating his other senses. There was a general, low level cacophony in his ears, just like you’d get in any sort of hospital and the smells were there but there was something that was only coming to him now. They were the same noises and the same smells. They hadn’t changed – except for the times the Nurse had been in, with her overpowering scent boosters No-one near him, he reckoned. He put his hand to the side of his head and felt the side of the bandages before removing it.


The stabbing light hurt his eyes so he kept them closed for a moment before blinking waterily to clear his vision. It was a nondescript room in almost every regard, the saving grace being that it appeared to be vibrant green paint on the walls. There was no window and he was hooked up to a monitoring system that would, no doubt, warn people when he was up and about. Which his leg didn’t much want him to be right now. The painkillers must have been pretty effective, he supposed, as he’d not really guessed his lower left leg was in a light cast right now. As, come to that, were his ribs. Moving was going to be slow and, he thought, likely painful. But he was still going to do it. This wasn’t any hospital he recognised. Straw put his lfeet to the floor, pushed himself upright and almost went straight over on his face as the jolt of pain swept up from his damaged leg. But he was still standing. Even if he wanted to lie down and sleep again. He wanted out. He wanted to do his duty and contact his daughter and they weren’t going to stop him trying. He unplugged himself from the monitor and heard the beeping alarm start sounding as it registered the lack of a pulse. He turned towards the door to see an old Rabbit standing in front of him, supporting himself on a walking stick. “I.. I’m leaving,” he said, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded.

The older Lappinean took one step forward, his cane clacking on the floor. “Considering the lengths I’ve gone to to keep Mutarachem thinking you’re dead, I would say that seems ungrateful, Agent Straw.”

Straw blinked as his vision swam. There was something so familiar about this old Lappinean. “Who are you,” he said unsteadily as a nurse who plainly wasn’t a nurse came in and sat him back on the bed before he fell over.

“Oh, I’m sure you know the answer to that one. You can call me George.” He smirked. “Or Balbury, if you insist.”

[Amazee Dayzee]

Nice work on this chapter! It did come out incredibly nice!

[Welsh Halfwit]

And there's his secret. Balbury keeps cropping up in these stories. He's wanted and protected by half the governments in Council space. An old Lappinean with his fingers in many pies...

[Amazee Dayzee]

Since he is a Lappinean I have to wonder if he is related to our favorite captain bunny boy in your other stories. Just the fact that you used THAT specific phrasing makes me wonder. Long-lost biological father?

[Welsh Halfwit]

I like giving Balbury a chance to talk. He's a smooth bag good guy.

NINETEEN


“I take it I’m going to die soon,” Straw asked with resignation, sitting on the edge of the bed he’d just vacated. He’d been hoping to go to his kits’ next birthday celebrations but that was beginning to look impossible. Heck, making it to her next Soccer game was going to be impossible.

“Why would you think that,” the elder Lappinean asked with forced geniality. “After all, if I wanted you dead, would I not have left you on that ledge?” He waved one hand away from his cane for a moment. “I went to considerable trouble getting you off there without Mutaracorp noticing.” A twitch of the cane. “I presume it was them you were investigating, hmm? Although, of course I don’t know why.”

Straw wasn’t sure he believed the professional liar in his entirety. Balbury had a history of lies, death and deception stretching back seven decades and there were rumours about other times beyond the reported ones. “So, why did you?”

Balbury decided to take up the seat he’d occupied as the visitor earlier and chuckled slightly. “There was no reason not to. It’s as simple as that. Our interests might conflict or coincide on things and I think it would be interesting to chat. For example,” he added, leaning forward, “why are IOC so interested in MutaraChem and their people? I’ve noted several dozen memos and reports crossing senior desks over the last week, all of them heavily redacted. But enough of them had traces left that led to MutaraCorp, which is why I so happened to be in the area and I was close enough to see the vehicle that’s not registered to anyone force you off the road “

Straw shook his head, almost luxuriating in the feeling of his ears shaking in the light air conditioning. “So it’s what’s in my head that you want, huh? Knowledge being power and all that?”

Balbury wagged his finger. “That, my boy, is a common misnomer. Knowledge is NOT power. Knowledge is… electricity.” He gestured up to the lights. “When properly applied, electricity can light lights and the darkness. Or, in other cases, it can send criminals and enemies into the sleep of the ages. It can restart hearts as easily as it stops them. It is the application of knowledge that is power, not the knowledge itself. And, if I’d wanted to just gain the information in your mind, I would have called in a telepath but…” he cringed, “...I understand the effects can be a little… distressing. And that,” he added, pointing his stick at Straw’s chest, “tells me only what is in your head, not what is in your heart. Everything I do has been for the good of our people…”

“...Even Teylacca III?”

“There’s no proof I, or anyone else, did anything untoward there. And that Feline colony had no right to be there. The virus that attacked them was… regrettable but better than the armed conflict that may well have ensued. But don’t interrupt when I eulogise. I want to know what you know about MutaraCorp. And, in particular, one… Milos Krishkan?” He smiled again, just like a shark.


Mitchumma looked over the reports after the ships left Raitche and tutted. Then he tutted again.

Grovan looked over towards his first and gave in to the temptation. “I’ll bite, Mitchumma, what’s up?”

“Scans show there was a teleport trace up from somewhere in the Chatreean mountains to the Savval roughly twenty minutes before we left orbit. It’s not on the schedule and it’s from some place thirty foot underground. We’d better…”

“...not worry about it,” Grovan said simply. “Plebar mentioned it to me. It’s a favour for her helm officer is all. Just to be sure, though, run a scan of the Savval for anomalous energy sources. I’ll contact the Savval and ask her to do the same for us.”

“If you think…”

Grovan held up a hand to placate the military veteran. “I KNOW you’d never let something like that aboard, Mitch. You’re too good a soldier for that. You are, however, lousy at diplomacy. We’re scanning them. It’s only right we allow them to scan us in return, yes?”

The Celican seethed but he had to concede the Collian had a point. Maybe.

The Captain tapped the comms as Stikes adjusted course to mirror the Savval as they took a slightly elliptical course towards Lappara to avoid any more ‘distractions’ and delaying measures. “Grovan to Savval,” he stated.

<“Plebar here,”> the Savval commander replied with enlightened jollity <“how may we assist you today?”>

“Just calling you to advise we’re doing a scan of your ship, Commander,” Groal advised. “Just in case anything’s happened to your internal sensor net. We would be obliged if you can scan us for the same reason.” Grovan thought he heard someone Ratty complain that they’d bite that Celican when next they met and glanced at Mitchumma. He didn’t know he’d even met Cheel. He’d only met her on the tour of the ship.

<“Acknowledged, Fallir. Will comply. Savval out.”> Hawthorne cut the line and Grovan turned to face his first.

“What,” Mitchumma asked, feigning innocence.

“Are you going to make me ask how the Savval’s bridge rat knows you,”

The Celican considered lying but that was beneath him. “We spent some time together on Caldera before being assigned to our ships. She’s always up to something and I was always stopping her. And sleeping with her,” he added, making Stikes cough with surprise at the ease with which he’d confessed that. “Which is why I never made things official. What happens in the barracks…”

Grovan nodded. “...Stays in the barracks. Got it. Can you work with her?”

“I can keep on top of things,” he replied, almost making Stikes choke.


“...lousy,” Cheel finished, in answer to the question neither Plebar or Denver had asked as Eckersley ran the scan of the Fallir from the bridge station he rarely occupied.

“We never asked, Cheel,” Denver confirmed, with a tone of irritation that neither the Captain nor the helm had noticed before.

“How long do we have until we reach Lappinean space,” Hawthorne asked.

“About fourteen hours on current course, Cap’n.” Cheel replied. “If there are no more delays.”

“Think there might be another delay,” Eckersley replied, drily. “Close in on sector 15, stroke 156.”

Hawthorne relayed the order and the screen focussed on a section of the Fallir’s hull. It was pockmarked by signs of combat and the repairs carried out on the move and in orbit of Raitche. And a small, circular object attached to it. “What is that,” Hawthorne asked.

“Well,” the Human replied succinctly. “to me it looks very much like a magnetic micro mine.”

[Amazee Dayzee]

Was very interesting to hear him talk and see what his point of view is! A very gripping chapter!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY

“I am never allowing Raitchians onto my ship again,” Grovan growled, before noting the engineer on bridge duties. “Unless I know them,” he added, cringing inside. His parents had been conned by a home agent Raitchian years ago and he realised he’d gained a little prejudice towards the race. He’d fought it back since joining the U.S.C. - and getting assigned a Raitchian bunkmate through the first few years – but it still occasionally fought its way through. Like now, as he looked as the micromine his scanners hadn’t picked up. The sensor joke had become a nightmare. His engineering officer was out there right now, tinkering with the mine in a space suit. The suit sensors were tied directly in to the console next to him so he could see the readings the engineer was getting. A pulse activated micron device with a fifteen litre explosive core and a positioning timer that would only activate when it was within range of a pulse beacon. Several pulse beacons in fact. And, Grovan reasoned, they had no clue as to where those beacons could be. The sensors showed one of Plebars old beauties was examining the exterior of the Savval for similar devices and anything else.


<“It’s not designed to destroy the ship,”> Engineer Kolerik said from outside the ship and he brought Grovan’s attention back to the matter at hand. <“It’s not big enough for that. But it would certainly put a crimp in the day, not to mention the armour.”>

“So it’s another delaying tactic,” Grovan reasoned.


On the Savval, Hadrian forced himself not to walk to and fro on the bridge as, frankly, it wasn’t big enough. He was beginning to get a little frustrated here. It wasn’t so much the attempts to stop them that were getting on his nerves, it was the fact that no-one was trying to stop them, just delay them. Who benefited from slowing them down? It was much harder to delay them than it was to destroy them so what was going on? As for now, he turned to Hawthorne. “Has the fighter found anything out there?”

“No,” Hawthorne replied. “We didn’t take as much hull damage as the Fallir did during the battle. Ours was manageable by ships engineering. The Fallir needed some work done by the Raitche station. We’ve sent word of the sabotage to Raitche IOC. They’ll find who had a sudden influx of funds or influence and bring them in.”

“Lappineans delaying us first, now Raitchians. You ever get the feeling everyone’s against us?”

“Most days, Officer Jak,” Hawthorne said with a huff that Hadrian was sure he’d never hear from Postain. Of course, with Postain he’d never be permitted to be on the bridge and ‘chat’ like this. Maybe there was something to be said for a slightly looser command style. “Most days,” Hawthorne repeated.


“So,” Balbury conceded, “it does exist.” He shook his head. “Mutara were working on the longevity issue, of course. Dozens of companies were. But they were the ones who made the breakthrough on ‘adjusting’ the genetic map by convincing the body that the menopause had never happened. There were rumours that they’d created something else but never anything more than hushed whispers of something that could change the future of the universe. Who knew they were right.”

Straw wasn’t sure he believed the elder’s surprise. He’d taken a few things in about the elder Spymaster. His shaky walk vanished from time to time, indicating he was structurally sound. The knicks in his ears were old and one or two were self inflicted, possibly to add a slight intimidation factor. And his cane had a pistol grip in more ways than one. Two switches. One must be for the acid injector IOC Celica had reported. The other was probably just an energy weapon. The other reason he didn’t believe him was that the semi official, denied by the government, spy was a professional liar. He chuckled and felt his wounds still in play. “You...ow… You couldn’t get… get someone in?”

“Exactly how many biochemists do you think my intelligence service has? Their cyber security has been stopgapped at a very high level. They, as you have found out, are protected.” He flinched slightly, as though a thought had just hit him. He leaned forward a fraction as though interested. “What DID you discover that made them decide to try to shuffle you off from this mortal coil? It’s rather a surprise move that risks drawing a lot of unwanted attention to them.”

Straw coughed. He was totally aware he shouldn’t tell Balbury anything but it seemed the self-same had control over his life and death right now so there wasn’t any logic in annoying him. “Some of their finances don’t make sense,” he confessed. “Contracts signed that never get acted on, components signed for that didn’t appear in any of the products released – according to the Pharmacological register, anyhow. I know about files being restricted and secret but a federal Warrant turned over more files…”

Balbury nodded. “You’d just served it and were going to go through the documents when you got back to the office?”

“That’s about right,” Straw said, suddenly realising IOC should be trying to locate him too. “I need to contact my people.”

“Not advisable,” Balbury counselled. He held up a hand. “Mutara think you’re dead. Or missing at least. We need them to continue thinking that and how IOC and the Police react will be of use there. As for your family, as I know you were going to bleat about next,” he added, “something can be done in a day or so.” His brow wrinkled. “The stress of not knowing means they needed a holiday or something. In the meantime, you can work from here. I’m having a simulation of your office set up with access to your computer systems. It won’t be detectable.”

“How can you..?” Straw paused. “You have someone inside our office?”

“My dear young fellow,” Balbury asserted smoothly, “I have someone in every office.”

Except Mutara, Straw thought bitterly. He didn’t say so, though.


<“I think I’m ready to remove the device now,”> Kolerik advised as Grovan and his first watched on the screen. The figure in the suit gently lifted the device free from the hull and started to stand up. <“Oh, hells,”> the voice said again, disconnecting the magnets in his boots before pushing away from the ship.

“What is it,” Grovan asked quickly. “ Kole…” He stopped as Kolerik exploded, some one hundred metres from the hull.

[Amazee Dayzee]

That ending was definitely something to knock you out of it when you are so engrossed. That was because it was so unexpected. Nice work!

[Welsh Halfwit]

There's a nastier one coming up. Wrote that part today. When is a victory not a victory..?

[Amazee Dayzee]

I would have to say when the cost outweighs the benefits. So that would be losing several people to death I take it?

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-ONE

Hawthorne had passed on her condolences and Grovan had accepted them about fifteen minutes before appointing Evals the Canine to the post of acting Chief Engineer and directing the ships to keep on their way. He’d arranged for what little remained of Kolerik to be brought back aboard and stored for future burial or dispersal as required by religion or creed. He didn’t know enough about him to know for certain and he’d been on the same ship as him for three years. Was what Hawle said about him true? Did he occasionally lack empathy? He’d have to work on it. As it was, in fact, he had other things to do right now. He’d have to make them pay. He really needed to. And so, it seemed, did Mitchumma. The first had stormed from the bridge and Grovan had located him in the vr exercise room, where he was standing in a ring with railings around it, wearing digital reading gloves, pads and a virtua helmet with muzzle attachment. It was as close to the virtual recreation decks larger ships had as could fit on the ship and had a version of the technology that allowed their skilled operators to operate a Starlancer remotely in emergency cases. From the way the figure was punching and swiping and lurching forward with the helmet, Grovan guessed Mitchumma was NOT landing a fighter. He determined he was going to give the Celican five more minutes in there before talking to his but chose to open up the observation panel so he could see the exercise that was making the military officer huff in his helmet.


He was on the fields of Celston IV, one of the Celican colony worlds that had fought quite hard for independence. But they’d taken to the bomb and bullet over blather and ballot boxes and there was never any government that was going to be seen to give into that. So, after six weeks of fighting, the troops had been sent in and Mitchumma had been one of the top troops on the job. The battle of Haldwick had been one of his best memories and he relived it now as he put his claws into someone a good few inches taller than him and ripped sideways along his gut before the larger figure could react.He drove a knee into privates that weren’t there in reality and took little pleasure in the sound he got from that as someone punched his kidneys and he turned to face the new attacker, a vixen who was no match for his ferocity today. Sometimes he went easy on her. Sometimes she survived and, in the longer plays of this simulation, went for dinner with him after. Not this time, though. He wasn’t thinking as his claws raked her throat open as he roared defiance in her face. He turned back to the first assailant and wrenched his neck to an unnatural degree before taking the heat off one of his simulated colleagues.


Grovan watched on with a horrified fascination as Mitchumma fought and slashed his way through people who wanted to kill him for independence fifteen years ago. As Celican on Celican, the Council had no influence over the situation as the colonists had avoided targetting the Council base on their world and the Council had ‘battened down the hatches’ in response. Supply shuttles had followed tight access flight paths to land in the compound and deliver supplies for the three months of fighting whilst troops had been ready to fire on either side if they breached the compound as the Council couldn’t be seen to pull out of trouble. The place had become a safe haven, where fighters from either side could request safe haven and there needed to be guarantees of security and safety before any were handed over to the opposing side. Death and torture were off the table.. Grovan imagined it had been a very tense time for everyone involved. Grovan watched as Mitchumma saw his hands slick with blood as he finished off the final defender in the village. |Grovan tapped the communications button. “Grovan to Sergeant Mitchumma, please report to base.”

The figure looked around in the simulation, as though wondering where the voice came from before remembering it was in the simulation. It stopped and the gauntleted hands reached up to unclip the muzzle attachment so the rest of the helmet could come off. He still wore a scowl. “Just working off frustrations, Commander,” he stormed. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, as Humans sometimes said, then Grovan reckoned he was talking to the devil right at this moment. A creature of blood and destruction, poison to anyone who met it.

“No, you’re working off anger, Kallan,” Grovan replied, “and I don’t want you to do that completely. Not yet. I want enough of it to remain in you that, when we meet those really responsible for this, you show everyone why they should never try it again. But it needs to be controlled until then, yes?”

Mitchumma tensed and Grovan could see his muscles and bones shifting inder the black furred lower arms and across his white throat as a touch of normality and sanity returned to the shine of his eye. “You mean we don’t try to take them alive?”

“Oh,” Grovan replied carefully, “we always try to take them alive. We’re the good guys. But,” he added considerately, “when we’re in a fight, it’s not always possible to save everyone, is it?”

“Just tell me you won’t hold me back when the time comes.”

“Could I?”

“No,” Mitchumma said, twisting his upper lip into the semblance of an unpleasant smile.

“Better not try then.” Grovan took a beat. “That vixen in there…”

“...Yes?”

“Haven’t I seen her picture in your room?”

“In real life I didn’t kill her,” Mitchumma replied. “I got her to medicals and ended up dating her after the battles were done. Two kids before we split up. They’re still on Celston IV.”

Grovan gestured to the display. “But you just..?”

“Today, I felt like it. She’d understand.” He took the gauntlets off and hung them on the hook. “She’s killed me a thousand times, I’m sure.” Grovan helped him with the overboots and the leg sensors. “Permission to re-enter the bridge, Captain,” he asked.

“Better I act as though you never left, Kallan,” Grovan replied. “As I forgot to tell anyone they had the conn when I came after you.”

“You sometimes make a decent C.O.,” Mitchumma remarked. “and, sometimes, when you don’t? You survive by being a decent person.” He gestured to the passageway. “Lead on, MacDuff, sir.”

“Everyone gets that line wrong,” Grovan complained, leading the way.

[Amazee Dayzee]

That was a very violent chapter I have to say but I can understand why Kallan would do that as he needs to grieve. Still I have to admit he was quite disturbing in the simulation. o.o

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-TWO

Straw found himself having to keep up with Balbury as they moved through the building, noting the positions of guards and medical officers and other officers in what passed for a school building with only the over white light from outside hinting, to his mind, that there was some trick here, some facade. His ribs ached. Come to that, his leg was really reacting to the fact that the painkillers were wearing off now. Pinpricks of pain swarmed his intelligence and begged him to stop moving, a feeling re-enforced by one of the attendants suddenly appearing with a chair and pushing him in to wheel him after Balbury. “I obviously overestimated your fitness,” Balbury stated, making it sound like an accusation, rather than a statement. The trio stopped outside a door and Balbury pushed open something that looked almost exactly like his office at IOC, if not quite right in any regard.


The desk was metal and Carrabin in makeup, rather than metal and Farwood as his had been. The computer was a model XII rather than a XI-B as his had been, the wall was three shades of Ochre lighter than IOC and the carpet was too long. “You’ve had a good job done,” he remarked as the nurse pushed him in, under his new desk, before lowering the table with his temporary replications system on it.

“Yes,” Balbury admitted, moving silently on the carpet, even with his stick, “if we’d had more time, we’d have got it all accurate. But we didn’t so this will have to do. Your computer works, by the way. It’s linked to the Mutara employee database and the customs, government and Police records. The Mutara details are those stored offsite so not directly linked to their security systems. But I think they will tell you what you already know and, strangely, didn’t feel the need to mention to me.” He leaned over the desk. “Milos Krishkan,” he told Straw, “is listed as dying two months ago.”


Minika stepped close to the barrel, which Hadrian had brought out from the wall safe, and carefully ran her hands along the top of the barrel. “All of this,” she said sweetly, “seems a lot to go through to stop this ship getting to Lapas.”

“I can agree with that,” Hadrian replied, “but destroying a Council ship draws attention. Delaying is something different. It enables they to clean up. To move on. To sell everything they’ve got. There’s a war of financial need going on right now.” He chuckled. “The most dangerous kind of war. There’s no bodies to point towards the enemies.”

“A thing I’ve learned from being in the financial crime capital of the universe,” Minika told him, putting her hand up to his chin, “is that even fraud and currency manipulation leaves bodies. If you know where to look for them.”

“Just like I know where to look for my WIFE,” Hardian stressed. “She’s aboard the Rodomont.”

“Oh,” Minika said playfully. “So she’s a sector away. And she trusts you?” She gave a gentle smile at how uncomfortable he looked. And how pointy his antlers were getting. “Good. She has a prize in you. Don’t let her forget it?” She knelt by the side of the barrel. “I hope it’s not going to leak,” she added, knowing someone who’d love to get their hands on the stuff.


In her room, Hayley examined the results of a Federal E-Warrant into the financial affairs of Milos Krishkan over the last five years and she wondered if her eyes were going to uncross at any time soon. Apparently he’d been one of the people Agent Straw had been investigating in his general financial trawl before his sudden removal from the scene. He’d maintained a constant flow of funds into his account, allowing for inflation over the last few years. It struck her as strange. He’d moved from Raitche to Lapas and, according to the files she had here – and the documents sent by their ‘informant’ on Raitche that showed his statements back there – he hadn’t done it for much of a raise. There wasn’t much to him, it seemed, until recently. He’d been buying groceries and electtonic goods just like everyone would but, for the last couple of months, there was an anomaly. A new payee appearing in the account. One Marikash Soran, to whom a good quarter of his funds had been transferred to on Lapas. There were no indications of who or what this new one was so Hayley made plans to apply for the federal warrant regarding this newcomer. She’d forward the information to Lapas IOC first, though. Time to see what they could find out about him. Or her, perhaps. Marikash covered both genders in various species. But she needed coffee. And to stretch her legs. So she locked the screen and headed out into the little ship beyond the door. Where was Minika? Probably propositioning the best looking males. So she headed to the bridge. She’d heard about the first Officer.


“Good morning, Agent Rogan,” said a voice that made her knees tremble as the words made a Wharfrunner on the helm station cringe. Hayley decided she’d have to ask about that at some point but let it go for now.

“Good… Are you sure it’s morning, Lieutenant?” She was pretty sure it had been evening when she’d come up and they’d spent a full day aboard so shouldn’t it be evening again?

Denver chuckled. “Ship time,” he told her. “You get used to it. We need it to keep the shifts running. How can we help you?”

“Oh, I’m just wandering around,” Hayley remarked idly, “being nosey and all that. Just wandering and meeting people, Lieutenant…”

“Denver,” the first replied, standing to offer a hand, which she took. “Colin Denver.” He nodded as she cocked her head at him. “I know, blame my parents.”

Was he taking her pulse through the handshake, she wondered? His hand was warm and strong, though. So she let it stay wrapped around hers.

“And the lovely lady trying to become part of her chair is Ensign Chayla Cheel.

“’Eya,” Cheel said, waving a hand backwards from the side of her chair.

“Heard of you,” Hayley told her. “And I have no interest in whatever you just did around Raitche, so long as it doesn’t endanger us now. Fair?” She left Denver’s warm hand and walked around to the side of her fellow native. “We can’t avoid running into each other on a ship this small so we might as well try to be polite and, possibly, friends?”

“Friends,” Cheel replied. “ain’t likely t’ ‘appen, fuzzy.” She allowed a slight smile to show off her front teeth and dropped the brogue. “Polite I can do.” She offered a hand.


“...find the contractor who did it and make sure IOC find his suicide when they get to him!” Balbury hung up the comm as he entered Straw’s ‘office’. “Someone exceeded their station,” he explained. “An example needed to be sent. What have you?”

Straw made an effort to move the screen around. “This is Milos Krishkan,” he said, pulling up the picture of the Raitchian they were after. “Raitchian of note. But he’s not totally of interest to us as he seems to have vanished - or died - a few months ago. What’s extra interesting is, three months ago, he made transfers out of his accounts to another scientist at MutaraChem. I won’t ask how you got linked into IOC, by the way. This is Marikash Soran.” He changed the picture to a long eared Raitchian/Lappinean cross with alternating tan and black fur, Raitchian teeth, round tipped ears, a spindly, fur covered, tail and fingers that alternated randomly between tan and black. He tapped the screen. “There’s evidence of Mr Soran going back years but they’re smokescreens. This person didn’t exist until about six months ago.”

[Amazee Dayzee]

This chapter really is an interesting inclusion to the story! Lovely work!

[DDeer]

Apologies for my tardiness, I'm absolutely hopeless at keeping up with online stories I'm afraid but appreciate the effort you must put into these, so from what I read I'm assuming this goop can create a hybrid?

[Welsh Halfwit]

Apologies for my tardiness, I'm absolutely hopeless at keeping up with online stories I'm afraid but appreciate the effort you must put into these, so from what I read I'm assuming this goop can create a hybrid?

Yup. It's a healing thing. But it heals by virtue of supercharging wounded cells by boosting the DNA it finds in a wound. If it finds two? Instant successful and fertile hybrid.

[Amazee Dayzee]

I am just waiting for someone to approach either Hawle or Elena with the BRILLIANT idea to use the goop so they can have children. XD

[Welsh Halfwit]

I am just waiting for someone to approach either Hawle or Elena with the BRILLIANT idea to use the goop so they can have children. XD

Well, they can always go about that the normal way. If Elena's up for it?

[Welsh Halfwit]

Time for a diversion...

TWENTY-THREE

“Is it me,” Flass asked as she kept up with Hadrian on his way to the ship’s tiny rest area, “or id this a little too easy…”

Hadrian turned towards her, raising his hands up to his sides. “You realise what you’re..?”

“Oh, I don’t mean it quite like that.” the Mican officer declared. “Sure they’re annoying and all. And slightly deadly. But they’re not attacking in any normal way, are they?”

“You’d prefer if they were?” Hadrian knew what she was getting at but he wasn’t going to let her get away with cursing the mission by her statement.

Flass shifted in discomfort. “Well, it’d be something I can get my hands on at least.”

Hadrian shrugged slightly before ducking to enter the room. He reckoned the toilet blocks on the Rodomont were bigger than the room but he digressed and ordered some of his favourite stuff from the machines and sat down at the nearest table.

“Thought you weren’t leaving that thing alone,” Flass remarked, taking up a set with her popcorn Chicken and soda.

“There’s not much nutritional value in that,” Hadrian commented, deliberately taking time to answer her question.

“Hmm, Doctor Quella keeps telling me that but I’ve been fine up to now.” She tossed one of the pieces up into the air and caught it in her mouth. “My p’rty tr’ck,” she said before chewing and swallowing.

“Get invited to many parties,” Hadrian asked with amusement.

“N’pe. Now answ’r the question.”

Hadrian put his green burger back on the plate and almost tapped his comm. “It alerts me if anyone goes near it. Actually, it alerts me if someone tries to enter the cargo bay without an access code from the senior officers. And there’s a surprise waiting for anyone who tries to force that hatch as well.”

“What sort of surprise?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told people, would it?” Hadrian took a bite from his food as he felt a shift in the ship’s course.


“Commander Grovan’s going to be calling in about thirty seconds, I reckon,” Denver told Hawthorne as she logged the change in course.

“I know,” she replied, “and I appreciate his concerns but this is a medical distress call from a liner and we’re required to answer it. Under USC charter, even?”

“He’s still going to..”

The commline beeped on Hawthorne’s arm panel. She answered it. “Did you get the same distress call as we did, Fallir,” she asked, before he could get a word out.

<“We did,”> Grovan confirmed. <“I don’t need to remind you that we’re on a mission here, do I?”>

Hawthorne thought he sounded a bit put out. He had reason to be. But he needed reminding as to who was in charge here. “And I’m sure I don’t need to point you to section 14 of the charter? Where Council ships are required by law to assist civilian ships in distress? We’re the closest ships to the incident.”

<“An outbreak of Coltic on a Raitchian ship on the outskirts of their space between Ragar Four and Calmas. It’s not fatal, Commander,”> Grovan said, his anger rising.

“Not if it’s dealt with in the first few days, Commander. After it goes to stage two it has a forty percent fatality rate. I’m not willing to sacrifice roughly sixty-eight of the one hundred and seventy aboard that ship according to the manifest – that we have double checked. The cost would be too high. We’re doing this, Commander. Ready your security teams but we’re going over there. No Raitchians on the teams, obviously.”

<“We’re agreed on that, Plebar. Ready your people.”>


Quella had her students working hard, replicating enough Jeraca serum to heal the worst affected and medical packs from storage for the less affected, containing effective general ointments and medications. “It’s not likely we’re going to need all of this but it’s best to be sure, wouldn’t you say, hmm? Yes,” she replied to herself before anyone else could speak, “yes, of course you do. It’s only smart. The Fallir’s going to be sending people to watch over you. They’re not going to have a clue what to do about Coltic but don’t wander too far from them. If things turn violent they’ll be better able to fight than you can.”

A Felines ear twitched towards her. The youthful tabby turned. “Why would things get violent,” she asked.

“First time with Coltic,” a Canine asked, keeping his sandwich away from their teacher and commanding officer. “stage two raises the Raitchian paranoia to maximum. It can bring on heart problems and aggression. They’ll go for you unless sedated and a good percentage will die. You got one hundred fifty plus bombs on that ship, ready to blow.”

“Oh, fun.”

“Nix the chitchat and ready the hypos,” Quella advised, somehow having removed the sandwich from the Canine’s hand. “Impakka seed,” she stated. “You hate Impakka seed, Baran.” She waved the sandwich in the air. “Thank you.”

The Canine pulled another, sealed, sandwich from his pocket. “I learn,” he replied, before eating it.


Hawthorne looked out onto empty space and reasoned that space was never truly empty. Dust and rocks still spun in the firmament, there were ships traversing the expanse and planets teeming with life out there somewhere. A billion planets with a hundred thousand civilisations crawling their way up from their pre-evolved forms and looking up at the stars and wondering what was up there. But there was one thing that wasn’t here, close to the sixth planet of the Calman system and that was a cruise liner in distress.

“Got ‘em,” Cheel said, drawing her attention. “Ah,” she added, “nuts.”

“Define nuts, Cheyla,” Hawthorne replied and the helm officer brought up the image of the elegant liner and the brightness of her engines burning at full standard velocity. “Why’s that a… Oh.” She paused as Cheel pulled back the viewer so they could see the moon the ship was headed for. “The Captain must be in stage two.”

“What’ll ‘appen if ‘e ‘it’s at max speed,” Cheel asked, worry dropping her accent control.

“If that hits the moon,” Hawthorne said with cold calm in her tone as she concentrated on the matter-of-fact, “it’ll crack open the ship like an egg and the engines will follow. If they’re going full burn at the time… It’ll take that moon with it, causing massive damage to Calman IV. There’s a hundred thousand on the moon…”

“And seventeen million on the planet,” Denver added.

[Amazee Dayzee]

I am pretty sure that Elena would rather try for a baby naturally and not do any experimenting. But that will be for the future and not now. However I am enjoying how this chapter has come out! Great work!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-FOUR

There was no way to catch it at standard velocities, Cheel reckoned. It was ahead of them at full burn and, in standard velocity, they could only match speed, which wasn’t much use when it was twenty minutes ahead of them and headed straight for an inhabited moon. The local Militia were scrambling but, out here, they weren’t well funded and only had access to craft smaller than the clipper ship Cheel was sat in. Every transport in the area was heading to pick up locals but there was no way they were going to be able to shift the one hundred thousand or even a fraction of it. So the Militia were planning to shoot the liner down, killing the one hundred and fifty aboard it. Cheel appreciated the maths when it came right down to it but lives were lives and she grieved for them. Or she would be if she didn’t know Hawthorne wasn’t planning on any deaths. So Cheel was calculating.

“Time to intercept at Velocity one point five, Cheel,” the Lappinean said from behind her.

“Fifteen seconds,” Cheel replied, having worked it out as Hawthorne reached the word ‘intercept’.

“Standby to engage.”

“Wilco.”


Hawthorne hit the comm. “Savval to Fallir.”

<“Grovan here.”>

“Link in with our helm, Captain. We’re going to do a short hop to catch up. We need to get in close enough to seize their bridge and engine room. Do you have a non Raitchian navigator to take control of the bridge? I’ll send my security with my Engineer to the engine room.”

<“Understood. Stikes, you’ll be headed over with Mitchumma. Remember, don’t kill them.”>

Hawthorne heard someone say they’d do their best. She was pretty sure it was the Celican. She cut the line. “Have they linked in, Chayla?”

“They’ve admitted my superiority, yup.”

“Ego has nothing on a Raitchian navigator.” Hawthorne strapped in. “Engage when ready.”


The two ships slammed back into normal space fifteen hundred kilometres in front of the liner and off to the Port side as Cheel slowed the ships slightly so the liner could catch them up. Mitchumma and Stikes stood ready in the Fallir’s teleport booth with a couple of security officers for back up. Stikes noticed the Celican wasn’t carrying a fire arm and made mention of it. “Too easy to kill them if I have one,” the Celican grunted. “Physical power takes longer to kill. I can stop myself.”

“Oh, right,” the Brockian demurred as the Celican cradled his fist.

“We go,” Mitchumma said. “Now.”


The Celican and a guard appeared first and Mitchumma staggered backwards as the Captain charged him, knocking him down and threatening him with a physical implement whilst exclaiming that the pirates would never take his ship and he’d kill them all and… Mitchumma flipped him over, kicked him in the groin, swapped the weapon from his hand and headbutted him to put him down as the guard fought hand to hand with the first officer. Mitchumma protected himself as a female Raitchian leapt on his back and tried to bite his shoulder off. He thrust himself backwards as the others teleported in and cracked her against the wall. “Someone stun this thing,” he called, not really wanting to hurt her, even as she drew blood from his shoulder. That was going to hurt. He turned around and the second guard shot her with the safety on. She lessened her grip and slackened her bite and fell backwards, only avoiding slamming her head into the floor by virtue of Mitchumma holding her legs.

Stikes got to work on the helm, running his expert hands over unfamiliar controls as a moon loomed large in the viewer. Much closer, he reckoned, and they’d be able to make out the buildings of the lunar colony. “Most controls have been locked out,” the Brockian pointed out, nodding to the Captain, “by him. I can slow us, not stop us and there’s no way to adjust course.”

“Do it,” Mitchumma replied as the guard bandaged his shoulder. “Give the Savval’s engineer more time.”


Flass fired a stun shot straight into the face of the engineer who’d attacked her as soon as the team had begun arriving. She dodged to one side as another whoosed what looked rather like a wrench past her head before she used her shokstick to deliver a stunning charge of power into his waist. “There are times this job is more…” She took a punch to the face and spat out a chip of tooth. “...trouble than usual,” she said, ramming her head into a stomach.

“At least they’re not…” Eckersley said, thrusting an incoming Raitchian into a bulkhead at full force, “...coordinated.” The third guard pulled Eckersley away as one of the engineers managed to get the fourth guards’ gun from the prone form before Flass put him down. “I thought there were supposed to be regulations about this sort of thing,” the Human asked, looking over the engine controls. “No all Raitchian crews? That sort of thing?”

“Regulations are expensive,” Flass replied, making sure they’d gotten everyone. “Companies only hire the minimum of otherworlders. So there aren’t always enough to stop them and… Yep.” She opened a door and a Canine fell out. She caught her, just in case she was still alive. She certainly wasn’t in the best of shape, with blood over her Dacan face and hands and her flopped ears ripped. She laid her down. “Flass to control,” she stated over the comm, hearing the hammering on the door. “We’ve got engineering but the locals know we’re here. We need the knockout stuff.” She looked at the Canine. “And a medic. We’ve found one of the non Raitchian crew.”

<“Sending them now,”> Hawthorne replied. <“Linking you to the bridge team as well,”> she added and Flass nodded as the new line came in. <“Celican called Mitchumma is leading their team. Plebar out.”>

Flass tapped the new link. “Flass to Mitch… um… er…”

<“Say the name quicker,”> Mitchumma snapped from the bridge, <“we don’t have time. We can’t change course. We’re slowing the ship as best we can and Stikes is trying to break the lock out but we need the engine stopped.”>

“We’ll do what we can. Contact the ships. They’re not powerful enough to stop a ship this size but we’ve got traction beams.” She cut the line.

“He’s military,” Eckersley said. “Cutting the engines will keep us going in the same direction, just a bit slower.” He started hitting switches and pushing levers to shut down the engine. “These things don’t shut down simply because you turn them off. The reactions have to cool down and that’ll take longer than we’ve got. The moon might survive,” he added as the first medical officer appeared with Engineer Ticon. Ticon was holding a large cylinder that he started hooking up to the air conditioning. “But it’ll still be an impact crater about ten miles wide,” he finished.

[Amazee Dayzee]

Well this certainly was a chapter here. I like the way it progressed things a lot!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-FIVE

Now the brakes had been applied on the liner, Cheel took the initiative and slung the Savval under and towards the front as the second helmsman on the Fallir slotted in behind the ship before the pair engaged their energy beams, the Savval pushing the liner back and upwards as the Fallir pulled in an attempt to alter the direction the liner was crashing in, to see if they could shallow the angle of impact and, possibly, miss the moon altogether. Plebar and Durness had come up with the plan in a quick five minute burst and she’d reversed the polarity of the flow on the Savval’s beam so it pushed rather than pulled. It was easily done, the settings were already loaded for times like this. Two traction beams slowing a cship could overload the frame strength and damage the ship they were being used against. This way it could lessen the stress. Or compact the ship, Cheel thought with bitter humour. She was watching the readout below the screen and reckoned they’d need to have the beam running at full power for quite some time for this to work and it was iffy even then. If it wasn’t working in ten minutes, they might have to shoot the ship down…


Stikes worked fast, trying to break the encryption the Captain had put on the main computer but he wasn’t holding out much luck as there wasn’t even the slightest clue as to what the Captain had programmed in and he wasn’t telling anyone soon, was he? “Is there any way we can make him sane for a few minutes,” he asked Doctor Quella, who’d arrived on the bridge a moment or so ago.

The Quokkan looked at him easily. “Yes, as it happens,” she said bitterly, “but it means the treatment against Coltic won’t work. It stimulates the brain to fight off the contagion but by supercharging the defences for a short while. Then they give up and the patient will certainly die. So you can’t use it.”

“Doctor,” Mitchumma said darkly, “if we DON’T use it to get the codes and turn this ship, over one hundred and fifty are going to die! To say nothing of those still stuck on the moon! One life or a hundred thousand.” He held out his hand. “There is no choice. Give. I’ll do it.”

The Quokkan batted his hand aside, knowing the truth of his argument. She sighed, thinking herself glad that, unlike all those Human Doctors on vidshows, she’d taken no oath to do no harm. Indeed, she’d met many Human medicos that hadn’t taken that oath either. “You’d just do it wrong.” She took the chemical out of her pack and applied it to the Captain, feeling sick to her stomach as she added a stimulant to bring him around.


He held his head and groaned as he fought his way up to consciousness, surrounded by uniformed people he didn’t recognise. His head felt like a ten hour binge in the back street bars of Raitche and his mouth tasted of blood. “I’m… I’m Captain Deniel Greyson,” he said with near certainty. Why was he thinking ‘pirate’ when he looked at the Celican?

“I’m Doctor Quella,” the Quokkan said softly. She looked upset. This wasn’t good news. Doctors on the bridge never were. “I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“Time for that in a minute,” the Celican snapped. “You’ve encrypted the helm and we’re on a collision course with a lunar colony. We need you to unlock it. Now.”

“Why… Why would I?” He stopped talking as he struggled up to his feet and could see the Orange lunatic wasn’t lying. He staggered forward, feeling his heart racing as he began to work out what had happened. “Oh, gods,” he said plaintively, “it’s Coltic, isn’t it?” Quella nodded and made a small noise of agreement. “The whole ship,” he added desperately.

“Yes,” Mitchumma declared directly. “But it’s not going to matter in about twenty minutes as the ship’s going to slam straight into that moon! Only you can stop it, Captain Greyson!”

He looked at Quella again. “You had to use Fantrill on me, didn’t you?” A quiet, upset, nod. He sighed again. Closed his eyes and accepted what was coming. Then he opened them again and Quella would swear she saw something of granite in the set of his jaw. “Better make it worth it then, hadn’t I?” He moved Stikes out of the way and began trying to unlock his own lock out. “There’s a few I might have used,” he said hoarsely. “Depending on the situation I was trapped in.”

“You thought I was a Pirate,” Mitchumma said.

“Oh. Then, if I was under… thinking I was under attack by them, I’d have, um, used this code to… How do I know you’re not tricking me,” he added, jaw beginning to tremble.

“I wish we were,” Quella stated, but we’re not. Pull up the passenger areas on the screens. You’ll see the damage. Our team in engineering’s putting knock out gas into the ventilation after locking out the bridge. But you have to save them, Deniel. You need to release the lockout.”

“Right, right.” He screwed his eyes tight and summoned his mind back into focus. “Must have been that stop at Keeldah…” He stabbed at fourteen keys, not quite at random, and the consoles lit up. Stikes leapt forward again as the moon loomed, almost too close for comfort. He quickly set a course on the console and the engines roared as the directional thrusters added to the magnetic beams, adjusting the forward course as Greyson staggered away, refusing offers of help. “I’ll not… I’ll do this in my office,” he said, reaching a small side door. “Record last messages…” He stepped through into the other room and shut the door.

“Brave Raitchian,” Mitchumma reasoned, saluting the door in a soldier’s respect before turning back to Quella. “You should have let me do it,” he told the emotionally crushed Quokkan. He put a hand on her shoulder. “For now the only thing to console yourself with it this.” He shook her slightly to make her look at him. “That Raitchian would never have forgiven you if you’d valued him over his passengers. THAT is what a leader does. Fights for those they’re responsible for. Dies for them to live if the worst comes to it. You helped him do his duty and saved the passengers, Doctor.”

“I’ve not saved them yet,” Quella replied, as Stikes told them to hold on.


The two ships broke their connection with the liner as it threatened to take them into the lunar atmosphere of the terraformed satellite. New clipper ships could enter the atmosphere of planets but neither Pangal nor Grovan were willing to test it right now and atmospheres created merry heck with magnetic beams anyhow. The ship had begun to change course under its own steam anyhow and Pangal glanced at Cheel’s readouts. It was going to be close but the liner was going to miss the surface and should have enough impetus to break out of the atmosphere again.


And it did, stopping in high orbit above the small scale colony and the medical teams got to work, applying the Coltic cure, assessing the wounded and counting the dead, including most of the non Raitchians on staff. The Militia were waiting to come in with a medical ship and full contamination gear but wanted USC permission first. Hawthorne tried to make contact with the Keeldah colony.


No response.

[Amazee Dayzee]

Not getting a response CAN'T be anything too good. Hope that this doesn't get worse somehow!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-SIX

“Five thousand, seven hundred and thirty nine dead,” Hawthorne said, almost hollowly, as she looked across at Grovan in her little conference room, Flass making up the third as she was small and could more easily fit. At least that was how Hawthorne sometimes thought of it anyhow. “Including the staff at the communications bureau. The U.S.C. Dovecut just confirmed it.”

Grovan looked… was it embarrassed? “Darn,” he muttered, looking to choose his words carefully. “We got off lucky, though.” A sigh. “Imagine if you’d not insisted on helping out? Do they know where it came from, yet?”

Hawthorne shook her head. “Not yet. Although they suspect it’s to do with a recent cultural exchange visit. The Captain of the Dovecut says the local governments are going to put out an urgent advisory to all colonies and ships. And, off the record, the Council’s going to be doing a lot more inspections of Cruise Liners across the entire Council region.”

“Across the entire region,” Flass asked in surprise.

“We all have our own medical problems,” Grovan grunted. “It’s supposed to promote interculturality. Is that a word?”

“Probably on some worlds,” Hawthorne told him. “But it’s out of our hands. Kinda like that Mican fleet.”

Grovan glared at her as she realised her faux pas. Flass perked up and slowly turned her head towards her boss. “Mican fleet,” she asked carefully.

“An issue for another time,” Grovan asserted. “Right now we need to discuss what we’re doing when we reach Lappara.”

Flass knew this was her moment to shine. To act as though the IOC officers involved had discussed the matter with her rather than her having overheard them discussing it with Jak in the cargo bay. “We’ll be working with local police and adding to their efforts to find Agent Straw whilst the analysts work through the results of the warrant he applied for the day he, uh, vanished. They’re specially looking for one called, uh… Milos Crashkan? Sorry, um, Krishkan. Apparently he’s a Raitchian working for MutaraChem and IOC Raitche is wondering where he is or something.”

“And the Chemical Action Team… Who aren’t Felines, before you make the joke,” will be escorting us to the disposal site for the barrel,” Hawthorne added in. “And, in light of recent events, I think we should be prepared for someone to try and steal it immediately it gets there.”

“In light of recent events,” Grovan retorted, “we need to be prepared for someone to try and steal it at all times.” He sighed and, uncomfortably, shifted in his seat. “How’s that Dachan you found?”

“Still being seen to by Quella,” Hawthorne replied. “The good Doctor thinks she’ll be awake in an hour or so. She’s the one got the distress call out, by the way. It seems she tied the comms system into engineering as the others were losing control. According to the rather x-rated vid recording, she had to fight off several attacks before managing to seal herself in.”

“And we’re taking her because..?”

“We have the best medical facilities for Canines in the area. Their own, local, hospitals are goi g to be overflowing with the injuries they inflicted on each other whilst being driven mad. She’s the non-Raitchian we found alive.”


Quella pulled herself back from the operating table as the suture beam sealed the final cut in the Dark Chocolate fur of the Dacan patient on the table in front of her. “Well,” she said, speaking for the benefit of the recorder device, “that’s about all we can do. Sealed the head injuries and set the bones with our usual efficiency. But she’s lost a lot of blood and she’s not going to have a lot of mobility for some time. She should wake soon, though.” The Quokkan sat at her desk, ordered a hot Jala from her replication machine and turned the recorder off before using her credentials to access central records. “Let’s see who we have here,” she stated, sipping the bright green drink as the system ran through several billion potential matches on the database. It took thirteen minutes and twenty seconds to locate Darielle Mosca of Cotares by volna on Faltin, one of the moderately wealthy planets some five light days from Cana itself. The read showed she’d taken college courses in Engineering and communications but dropped out of both in the final year to become a Chef for some reason. Quella cross referenced the records from the liner company to confirm that the Dacan had been hired as a chef on the trip and it was there.


“A Chef,” Grovan complained, standing over the form in the medical bay as Quella shifted him back a step. The double chocolate furred individual looked almost helpless under the sheets the Doctor had pulled over her to keep her warm. The mask over her muzzle wasn’t helping much either as it pushed air down her nose and kept her breathing consistent.

“A sous chef,” she corrected.

“What was a sous chef doing in engineering, sending distress calls?”

“Saving the day, apparently,” Quella remarked. “Academically, she’s the best engineer in her year, according to her College notes. Which were on her resume when she took this job. She dropped out because they weren’t challenging her.”

“…” said a figure. It took Quella a second to realise it wasn’t her or Grovan making the sound. She turned to see the figure in the bed try to move. “Don’t,” Quella said, moving to take the mask off. “You were badly hurt. I’m Doctor Quella of the U.S.C. ship Savval. This is Commander Grovan of the Fallir.”

She unstrapped the mask and pulled it away from the face so the plastic tubules inserted up the nostrils to prevent obstruction could come free with as little discomfort as possible. The Dacan still scowled at the effect as mucus trailed from her nose to the mask. She sneezed things clear and Quella decided she’d need to clean that up after.”You’re quite safe,” the Doctor cooed, almost petting the back of Darielle’s head.

“The… the Quesi…Quesillada,” the canine said weakly.

“We got to her in time,” Grovan put in. “Stopped the ship death diving into a moon. The people there and on that ship owe their lives to you. Not many chefs know how to rewire communications tech in a combat zone.”

She tried to smile. It almost succeeded. “Engineering… boring. Catering… fun.” She slipped back into a sleep and Quella put the mask back on.

“That’s us told,” Grovan assumed.


Ten hours late and thirty million miles off course, the pair of ships entered Lappinean space.

[Amazee Dayzee]

Oh so they are in Lappinean space now huh? Insert obligatory question about Hawle showing up here. XP

This was a really swell chapter!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-SEVEN


Straw wasn’t one for introspection usually but he’d been getting used to being around here these last few hours. He’d almost forgotten he was trapped with one of the most wanted and protected people in known space, with guards keeping him confined to the complex and away from his family. The vidlink he had access to only worked within the complex and nowhere beyond. The computer’s link to IOC was a one way tap, so he couldn’t use it to get a message to Agent Andros, his allotted partner at base. The Human must be losing his mind, Straw guessed, pulling what little headfur he had out. Straw had doubted the competence of the Human at first but they’d been allies too long for him not to see the virtues in the creature now. He’d be arguing with Station Leader Makari and, probably, losing. And here he was, eating a salad sandwich and drinking coffee so thick he could probably tip it out onto the table and cut it into slices. He was currently monitoring Marikash Soran and his comings and goings to build up a pattern of movement.


The door opened and Balbury stepped in, accompanied by a guard who stopped by the door. “I’m not sure I could out fight you in my current condition,” he advised the eldster.

“True, dear boy,” he replied, “but there’s never any harm in reminding you of the futility.” He tapped a little closer to the table. “What has Mr Soran been up to with his new face?”

Straw shrugged. “Nothing much, really.” He’s been buying groceries, going out to night clubs, paying bills in his new house. All those general sort of things.”

“Hmm,” Balbury assented, seemingly in thought. “Do any of his activities… overlap with his old? Is he using the same shops? The same clubs? Even the same fuel stations?”

Straw shrugged. “It’s a small town. There’s only the two fuel stations and three clubs.”

“So the answer is yes, then? A bit strange, isn’t it? Considering MutaraChem has many outlets across this planet and several of the colonies. Why is someone so similar to Krishkan, and who only came into existance in the last few months, living in the same area? There are two possibles I can think of,” he continued. “One, it’s pure co-incidence. Two. They’re testing the new look under relatively closed control.”

“Three months,” Straw huffed. “Must be close to finishing the test by now.”

“Hmm.” Balbury brightened up. “Oh, your people have found your vehicle, by the way. My drone showed me your pet Human examining the wreckage. Of course, of course,” he continued, seeing Straw about to protest, “he’s not your pet. Just someone you work with. I retract the statement. He rather surprised me, being honest. He spotted the drone! I may need you to confide in him very shortly.” The spy passed the agent a one time comm. “Especially as the Savval has been delayed by a contagion.” He took on a stern expression now, any signs of humour gone in the line of his jaw and muzzle. “Do NOT look at me like that! Not every contagion is a plot or plan! They lucked on an outbreak of Coltic which would have gone absurdly badly if they hadn’t diverted. Either way, we are losing time! My people are trying to track down everything that that company has shipped out in recent months but it’s not exactly easy.”


Minika was the one on the bridge this time, keeping quite close to Colin Denver as the first Officer strained to keep his mind on his job and not on the perfectly proportioned Lappinean on the stool next to him. VERY next to him. “So,” she asked, her face close enough that the breath from her words rippled his cheek fur, “how far off are we from Lappara?” She reached over to adjust one of the controls.

With a grin, Colin smacked the hand. “Roughly fourteen hours out,” he replied, almost not smiling. “With no distractions we should get there about ten AM local time on Icalladay.”

“Oh, you know our calendar?”

“Usually helps when dealing with the locals.”

“So, what shall we do for the meantime,” she asked.

“Well, I have my duties but, if you like, there’s a VR room available and about thirty thousand hours of vid-tv stored in the computer memory and…”

“How about..,” Minika asked slyly, before leaning in to whisper the rest of the line into his nearest ear so the helm officer couldn’t hear it.

He blinked. “Not when I’m on duty,” he replied, before half reconsidering. “Drink later,” he offered. “I’m off in uh, seven standard hours?”

“I’ll count the minutes,” Minika said, spinning around on the stool until she faced the other way, towards the exit. “Not much else to do on this ship, after all.”

“We tend to keep busy,” he replied as she slid away, down the passage. “And you can shut up,” he told the shoulder shuddering Raitchian at the helm.

“Didn’t say nuthin’,” Cheel replied, before launching into a near imperious tone that mimicked Minika. “How’s about we make out on the Captain’s chair right now?”

“She’s just being friendly,” Denver protested, even though he knew the Dock Rat was right.

“Very friendly,” Cheel agreed. “She probably works in vice!”

Denver looked around for something to throw at her.


The Human hated sweating. Not so much because it meant it was hot but because it marked him out as different. And, although he could never pass for a Lappinean, it was when he was sweating that he was most reminded of that physically because they just didn’t do it. Sure there was heavy breathing and, sometimes, the licking of their own nose but covering themselves with a sheen of excreted personal water when it wasn’t raining? Definitely stood out. Kellan would never comment on it, of course, he’d just hand over one of the handkerchiefs he kept for the matter and pull the scent damper aerosol from the glove compartment. Kellan Straw was like that, Anthony Andros thought. And he was still alive. He had to be. He’d found the crushed remnants on the burnt out vehicle down in the woods at the bottom of the cliff after seeing the new barrier on the way to Mutara; a new section of metal that definitely wasn’t the same as the one on the street level mapping he’d checked before he came out. It had taken him an hour to get down there and an hour to search around for his best friend . He’d been thinking the worst until that muffins and cookies drone had shown up. He’d shot at it but it had gotten away with merely a piece scythed from it. Someone had see… His comm beeped. Switching to the ‘private’ setting that activated tiny speakers in his left ear, Andros answered the comm.

<“Lamb shanks and Hollandaise sauce,”> Kellan Straw said in his ear, using their proof code. <“Keep looking angry, Anthony. I’m still missing, after all.”>

[Amazee Dayzee]

Definitely a really nice chapter that you have posted here! Can't wait to see what's next!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-EIGHT

“Anything of interest, Chigley,” Hawthorne asked blithely as she took her seat on the bridge, replacing Denver, who seemed rather happy to go off duty for some reason. He’d almost run from the bridge as soon as she’d arrived. She’d watched after him but he’d done all the official handover procedures so that was that, wasn’t it?

Chigley, the Mican at the helm right now, turned in her seat to face Hawthorne in a way that Hawthorne never liked. The driver was taking their eye off the road. “Very little, Captain,” he reported. “A comet a few hours back. Sciences got some good scans apparently. Medical’s reporting the Dacan’s making good progress and Captain Grovan’s thinking about offering her a job as engineer.”

Hawthorne chose to take the weapons seat next to the Mican so he could focus on his panel and the screen. “And how does a helm officer figure all that out? I didn’t know you were telepathic?”

“I’m not,” he replied. “I was in the medical bay for an arm strain just before I came on duty. I heard the other Captain muttering to himself.”

“Ah. What’s our position?”

“We’re in space and you’re my boss. If you want more specific,” he added, sensing her glowering at him, “We’ve passed by the first Lappinean colony about three minutes ago and we’re teight hours from Lappara.”

“Good, good,” Hawthorne replied. “Keep to course. No diversions.”

“I’ll ignore all distress calls,” Chigley enthused.

“Sooner or later I’ll get a tone of authority,” Hawthorne complained, moving back to her command chair.


“We’re on a small ship with no facilities,” Hayley remarked to her compatriot as they finished discussing plans in what the Raitchian almost laughingly called her room, “and you’ve managed to finagle yourself a date?”

“Well,” Minika replied, checking she looked immaculate in Hayley’s mirror, “I was bored so I picked one up.” She stopped primping her ears. “It was kind of easy. As you say, it’s a small crew. They all know each other FAR too intimately to get involved with each other so…” She turned to let Hayley examine the cream outfit she’d put on a short while ago. “...that leaves guests who aren’t in the U.S.C.”

“Beats me why you’re getting all decked out specially, Minika,” Hayley told her best friend. “We both know it’ll be on the floor inside half an hour.”

“Yes,” Minika replied, pretending she’d not heard the comment, “there’s fun to be had here. Why,” she continued, now acting as though a thought had struck her, “even you might be able to find someone to spend time with.”

Hayley had to smirk at that. “Don’t break him, eh,” she said. “I don’t want you facing assault charges.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Minika replied, stepping out of the room and letting the door close behind her as Hayley went back to work.


Anthony Andros had new ‘anonymous’ information for the system and he was happy to enter it, putting Mr Soran on the no fly list and, taking the advice he certainly hadn’t been given by an agent that was currently missing and hadn’t called anybody, made out that he was someone of interest in the disappearance of Milos Krishkan. Something he’d apparently suspected after realising that Soran’s identity only went back a few months and there was no-one matching that description anywhere in the system going back more than a few months. Section Senior Agent Frankin had agreed to this as soon as he’d seen the picture and realised the possibilities. “Any sign of him,” the Jet black Alskan Lappinean said, leaning over the Human.

“I’ve only just entered the details, sir,” Andros replied, “It’ll take time.”

“A word in private,” he asked, noting the others around them.


The pair stepped into the nearest elevator and Frankin pressed the button for the next level up, then turned the power off halfway up. “What aren’t you telling me, Anthony,” he asked, keeping his tone level, despite the annoyance evident in his eyes. Before Anthony could reply, the Senior continued. “You’ve been one of the leading lights hunting for Kellan since he went missing. You’ve barely stopped looking whilst others have been looking into MutaraChem and, all of a sudden, you’re not just leading the investigation, you’re turning up leads no-one else has found? And you’ve not mentioned Kellan in the last three hours.” He leaned over the Human. “What is it, Andros?”

The Human considered lying but decided it would be better not to be caught out like that and the Alskan could hear his heart rate as a lie detector. “All I can say – because it’s all I know – is that Kellan – or someone who sounded like him - called me from an untraceable comm and told me to look for Soran.”

“So he’s alive?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny, sir. All I can say is that, if he’s faked his demise? He’d have a good reason.”

“Hmm,” Frankin said, hitting the power button to resume the journey.


“Now,” Balbury said, leaning on Straw’s desk, “I think it’s time we turned up the heat on MutaraChem.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s probably best you don’t know. Just yet.”

Straw thought he was probably right...

[Amazee Dayzee]

Very nice chapter once again! I can't wait to see what you are gonna put up next!

[Welsh Halfwit]

TWENTY-NINE

Cheel sat up in bed and re-read the mail she’d just opened. She blinked. It couldn’t be right, could it? People thought that ill of her? She swung her feet to the floor and read the mail for the third time. How many people had that sheizzer at Talvary sold the information to? She had to show this to someone. She had to do it now as she didn’t know if she was the only one to receive the communication so she got up and stepped out of her room into the restrained lighting of ship night time. Captain or the new Deer, she asked herself as people headed past her. She chuckled slightly as a few of them wandered into walls and wondered where they’d hidden the booze. Jak, she thought. The cargo bay was closer anyhow.


Hadrian was checking through the crew details when Cheyla came into the bay and she had to stand close to him to attract his attention. She offered him the padd and he looked at it, then at her. Then at the padd. Then at her again. “Ensign Cheel,” he said gallantly, taking his shirt off and offering it to her, “I think you’re out of uniform.” He caught the padd as she dropped it on realising she’d just walked through half the ship with not a stitch of clothing on. She shrieked and grabbed at his shirt as Hadrian engaged the translation contacts he’d been told to get so he could read the Raitchian script. His jaw tightened and the left antler sharpened as he read the communication aloud, just in case he got some words wrong, as translation systems sometimes did. “Dear Cheyla,” he read, “it has come to our attention that you are a serving Officer aboard the Savval. There is an object…”

“Item,” Cheyla corrected, trying to button up the shirt with hands that didn’t reach the ends of the sleeves as the shirt bottom reached her knees.

“...Thanks. Item in your ships manifest that we are intrigued… interested in. An opportunity to make a considerable profit is now yours if you can find a way to …” He put the padd down. “They want you to steal the gel?”

Cheel put her hands on the table and Hadrian realised that, with the shirt being too big, he could see right down her top. Things hadn’t improved so he pulled up a seat and bade her sit. “Any idea who they are or how they knew you?”

“I don’t…” She paused. “Actually, I probably do. If it’s not to do with family, it’s likely that jerk who told the pirates where to intercept us sold the information to others interested in the stuff too. It’d be easy for them to check the crew manifest and locate the names of people who might be, uh, tempted. There’s probably five or six who might, um, have some debts to clear out?”

Hadrian, almost despite himself, reached out and scritched the top of her head playfully. “I’d heard you recently sorted out any financial concerns, hmm?”

“Does nothing stay secret on this ship,” Cheel complained, batting his hand away but grinning.

“Small ship.” Hadrian remarked. “Can you tell me which people we should be looking for? And do you know who sent this?”

“Nah, it’s a general address,” Cheel advised him, adjusting his shirt to cover her knees better as her tail waggled uncomfortably between her legs. She wasn’t fond of the idea of giving over people’s details to the law but, she supposed, it was for the security of the ship. Wasn’t it? Was it? She tapped out a trio of names that came disturbingly to mind rather quickly. She could rationalise it as, potentially, stopping a threat to the ship and, therefore, a threat to her safety. Plus she plain just didn’t like Cattagia in sciences anyhow. Debt and ego were not a good combination. And the Celican kept trying to bed her. Not, she thought, after the other one. And HE was back in her life again now, wasn’t he? “Want me to tell the Captain,” she asked.

“Yeah,” Jak replied. “Best you do. One thing,” he mentioned as Cheel pushed herself upright.

“Wassat,” she asked.

“Get dressed first, hmm?”

“Hah. Yeah. Want the shirt back?”

“Better do. This room’s quite chilly.”

“I’m not offended, by the way,” she said, heading towards the door. She turned around as she reached the door. “I was in the fur and your antlers didn’t shift.” She practically sashayed out of the room.

“So,” Jak guessed, musing on things, “the zealots may be trying to make their move.” He paused as Cheel re-entered the room.

She slid across to the desk and picked up her padd. “Knew I forgot something,” she told him. “Can’t convince the Captain without proof, eh?”

She left again, making Hadrian shake his head. “I hope she doesn’t drive like she lives,” he commented as his computer showed the ship cruising Lappinean space.


Agent Straw could hear something going on outside his office and he decided to go and see what it was. His door opened with expected reluctance and allowed him out into the darkened corridor beyond and he wondered what time it was in reality. The clock in his office wasn’t working and the one on the computer seemed wrong to him. As though Balbury didn’t want him knowing the time correctly. Just another trick, he supposed. But people were hustling about down the end. He ventured down that way but a couple of guards intercepted him. “Sorry, sir,” the one said, “but we’re not to let you down there just yet.”

“Nothing much to see anyhow,” the other added, clearly lying and not caring if he was caught out. Someone was clearly shouting down the way and being told to shut their face.

“Any chance of some dinner,” Straw asked, trying to seem disinterested in what was going on and hopeful they’d get him something too. “I don’t think too much of the salads from the replication thing.”

“We’re not…”

“I’m sure something can be sorted,” the second guard interrupted. “But you’ll need to go back to the office, sir. I’ll get your food shortly.”

Straw headed back to the room, feeling it more a prison now than he had before.


A moment later, Balbury headed down the corridor. He headed down towards where the altercation had come from.

[Amazee Dayzee]

Really liking this so much which each new update! Awesome work Welshy!

[Welsh Halfwit]

Balbury. NOT a good guy...

THIRTY

The Lappinean blinked as the hood was yanked from her head, almost taking an ear off in the process, it felt like. It had happened so fast, she recalled, that it had almost seemed a dream. Waking up in the early hours whilst knowing something was attacking. Jolting upright in the bed, too late to save herself as figures in the dark, shining lights into her eyes, grabbed her and shoved the metal ball into her mouth and the bag over her head to stop her calling out or fleeing. They’d taken her arms tightly and pinioned them behind her back as one had injected her with a calming concoction to keep her heart rate down and her, generally, compliant as the strangers took her arm and led her downstairs to their vehicle. Unable to fight or call out she’d gone to listening as best she could There were sounds in the distance as they went down to the end of the drive. A walker on the heath a hundred yards away. Mr Rikkan’s morning radio coming to life. Four AM then, she assumed as they pushed her into the back of their vehicle. Someone strapped her in and she could smell them sitting beside her as she tried to hear the engine. There wasn’t a sound. No, she’d told herself, there was. There was a humm. Hover vehicle, then. A silent curse. She wasn’t going to be able to tell where they were going by the road sounds. She grunted out something that, she hoped, sounded like ‘can you remove this gag, I won’t run’ but probably sounded nothing like as they didn’t. So she sat back and remembered her arms were trapped behind her. Her heart would have exploded, she thought, if they hadn’t used what they’d used. It was probably why they’d used it.


It seemed like half an hour before they stopped again and someone reached under her hood to remove the gag. She almost bit him for the other places he’d put that hand in the half hour. A few minutes later the injection would be far enough off that she might have been able to try it. Instead she just hurled invectives at them as they pulled her from the vehicle and walked her down cold, metal, floors in what smelled like a hospital. New scents carried her way as her panic lurked back in and she began to call out. To cry out. To cry, even. Was this a test? They’d been told they might be tested but… Someone shoved her into a chair. The cut her bonds but took her left arm and pulled it sharply around to the front. She felt something hard wrap around her wrist and heard a chinking sound before the heavy hand released her wrist. She was chained to something. Someone strapped her feet to the chair. And someone else was putting their hands up her night shirt, attaching things. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was when they went away. The silence sucked all the life from the universe. She began humming.

“A pleasant tune,” a voice said from the darkness. She’d not heard him come in. Had he been there since the start? It was an old voice, she reasoned.

“Hello,” she asked, her head turning towards where the voice had come from. “Who are you?”

“You may call me ‘George’, my dear,” the voice said from the other side of the room. “It’s a false name, of course, but names give power, do they not, Miss Fallow? Lydia Fallow? Biochemist at MutaraChem? Part of the team that created the Lappinean longevity drug?” She noted there was curiosity in his tone. “I need you to tell me about that,” he added pleasantly, before dropping his tone to a bitter tang, “and it’s spin-off.”

Her stomach plunged. So this person knew about that? He didn’t sound like he worked for MutaraChem but they’d promised. They’d PROMISED no-one would find out. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and jerked as a jolt of pain passed through her.

“I apologise for that,” the elder said, “but it was needed. To show you that you have electrodes attached to your body right now. I can send jolts through your frame with a press of a button. It’s not something I enjoy doing but, when I ask questions, you will answer truthfully and quickly. It’s the only reason they laid hands on you.”

She spat in defiance. “Should…” she gasped, “have told that to the one in the car!”

A step forward. The hood removed. She blinked as she figured out her ears were both still attached.

“That will be investigated and, if true, that agent WILL be disciplined,” the figure said.

Cork tiles, she noted. No wonder she’d had trouble hearing him. He slipped glasses over her eyes and she wondered why until he moved in front of her. She couldn’t see his face. He must be wearing reactive tech. He sat opposite her and told her to talk. He pressed the button again and she arced in pain.

“It… it was found five… five months ago,” she gasped. “We… we were doing tests on Racinna as the… the closest match Animals to Lappin...Lappineans! It.. it had been theorised after one of the leads had noticed the minor healing effect of the treatment!” She gasped and put her hands to the table, relaxing the pain on her wrist from the cuff. “Professor Marwick thought it could be supercharged.”

“Marwick,” the figure said sharply. “Ragar Marwick?”

“No. His… His daughter. She…”

“Isn’t a professor. She got thrown out of all the Universities for trying to carry on his work after he vanished! So, she’s with Mutara, eh?”

Lydia nodded, fearing a shock if she didn’t. “And… and it worked in a different way. The… the Racinna healed from wounds fas...faster than ever before but one.. one had been hurt by a wild Earth Fox and it… it… it changed. It… it became a mixture of the two species.” She closed her eyes. “I heard the cracking of bones in my mind as the creature wailed its way, mottling fur, altering its form… It was a relief when it died.”

“And you didn’t report it,” ‘George’ asked.

She snorted. “Admit we’d created an abomination? They’d have lost the company.”

“So, instead, you worked on it in secret? Until you’d created a REAL biological weapon,” ‘George’ sneered. “I take it you’ve run tests on sentients?”

“No. We…” She arced as he pressed the button and left it pressed for thirty seconds, arcing her back and gritting her teeth, her tongue pressing hard against them. Hard enough to break the skin..

“WE KNOW YOU’VE RUN TESTS,” ‘George roared. “And we know at least one of the names too! Don’t lie to me!”

“We’re not…”

“LIAR!” Another shock, eliciting a cry. “If you try to protect them, I will kill you! MutaraChem has unleashed something that could end life as we know it throughout the galaxy! I need to know how close it is to a mass roll out!”

“I…” She gritted her teeth against the pain as the pain continued. “Don’t… know!”

“What DO you know,” ‘George’ asked, releasing the button.

She gasped. She looked down at the stain beneath her as it spread. She swallowed as her heart beat hard, just this side of an attack. “I know…” she gasped, “...only that they’re planning a big…” A swallow. “Big shipment in… two days.”

“I’ll have someone bring in water,” ‘George’ said, leaving the room.