PROLOGUE:
Doctor Hayato Tsugumo stood in the darkness of his sanctum holding
a small crystalline mass in his hand. His onyx eyes held the crystal in
deep contemplation. Perhaps this time he would see something deep within.
If it chose to show him anything. He had grown accustomed to the crystal's
mannerisms in the last 1400 years, and knew that it was a capricious thing.
The crystal, for its part, glowed faintly pink, and the sounds of
thousands of tiny chimes could be heard if one listened very carefully.
Doctor Tsugumo listened. The crystal was saying something to him.
It might even have been a secret. He'd learned so many others from it over
the span of centuries.
Not this time, however. What the crystal sang to him in its tiny
voice was no secret at all. At least not to him. He said as much, and
the crystal tingled in his mind at the rebuke. It then fell silent. It
could be decades before it decided to speak again.
Taking great care, Tsugumo set the crystal in a small box made of
an iridescent black metal surprisingly heavy for its size. He closed
the box, and placed it in a small vault much like a sacramental tabernacle,
or the organ casket for an Egyptian king long dead. He locked the vault
and turned to the window.
The window was polarized black. At a verbal prompt it faded to
transparent, and soft light spilled into the room. The sky was pink, with
fleecy white clouds. The walls of a castle were below, and several towers
and minarets probed the sky before him.
A tone sounded, and Tsugumo bade the visitor enter.
It was Hexenkessel.
Hexenkessel was wearing his long white lab coat, looking like he
had slept in it again. His pockets were crammed with pens, probes, laser
pointers, tools, and spools of optic line. Data discs and scraps of printout
threatened to jump ship with every step he took towards Tsugumo. He affected
his usual nervous smile as he entered.
"Ah, Johann. Please set those down or you're liable to drop it all,"
Tsugumo said.
Gratefully, Doctor Johann Vander Hexenkessel set his armload of
data upon a table. He sifted through the pile for a few moments, but
couldn't find what he was looking for.
"Just a moment please, Hayato. I have the results from the tests
right here."
"I'll look at them later, Johann," Tsugumo replied. "How did it go?"
Hexenkessel looked truly pleased with himself. "The engines set up
perfectly; all operational dynamics were well inside the tolerances, and
all gravimotive forces are stable. I was holding my breath for a minute or
two, but everything came out as calculated."
"Splendid!" Tsugumo cried, truly pleased. He was worried that it
would prove to be difficult. The principles involved worked in theory;
application however was often far different.
"We'll be ready for the Initial Light-Off test tomorrow morning,"
Hexenkessel continued. "I don't foresee any problems, and we can probably
commence the power ramping tests by the end of the tenday."
"Excellent. And the Converging Beam Gun?"
The frazzled doctor rubbed his hands together with excitement.
"We mate the focusing booms after the Light-Off tests. Initial
firing tests utilizing a normal fusion furnace were satisfactory;
yielding about seven terawatts. We hope to achieve fifteen to twenty
terawatts when we complete the linkup."
"Johann, you never fail to exceed my expectations," Tsugumo said
fondly.
Hexenkessel gave a curt nod and flashed his nervous smile again. It
seemed that he had more to say, but was reluctant to broach the subject.
Tsugumo was centuries accustomed to Hexenkessel's mannerisms, and did
it for him.
"You're wondering who we are going to get to pilot it, aren't you?"
Tsugumo asked.
"Well, yes actually," Hexenkessel replied, grateful to have Tsugumo
bring it out into the open for him. "You aren't still considering the
heirs of Solomon, are you?"
"I am," Tsugumo answered.
Hexenkessel sighed. They'd been through this argument for at least
fifty years. "Your men approached Jasper Reno, and he wanted nothing to
do with us. He even gave up Solomon's sword to you. His son, George,
hasn't the psych profile we need. What makes you think James Reno will
do this?"
"He will. He's like Solomon reborn. Abraham would have been pleased
to see him, to know that his work has survived the tests of the ages."
Hexenkessel went silent for a moment at the mention of their long
dead partner.
"James is just a boy," Hexenkessel pressed at length.
"By the time Blackshrike is completed, he won't be."
"Do we even have the time for this? Events seem to be unfolding
faster and faster in the last fifty years. The Apparat grows bolder,
and it would seem that our destinies are rushing towards us."
Tsugumo's eyes narrowed. Hexenkessel would be better off staying
with engineering and leaving the soothsaying to the psychics.
"Pfagh. You know I don't believe in predetermination. Our 'destinies'
are what we make them," he replied.
Hexenkessel took the mild rebuke as intended, without malice.
"Very well, Hayato. I don't pretend to understand the half of your
designs, but my support shall continue unfailingly for you."
"And I thank you for it, Johann. We must make our final preparations,
and commit ourselves to this course."
________________________________________________________________________
J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present:
THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT
-Part One-
By J. Austin Wilde, K.B.C.S.
Super Critical Reactor Axe Man
Fission Park Press
wildeman@psn.net
Copyright 1998
The characters and situations of THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT are the creation
and property of the author, who would ask that any reproduction of this
work, other than for the purpose of critical review, first receive his
written permission. This is a work of fiction intended for eventual
publication (I hope), and while I couldn't afford to sue anyone for
infringement at the moment, it wouldn't stop me from finding out where
you live and breaking your kneecaps... :p
As this is a work intended for publication,
Comments & Criticism would be greatly appreciated.
A good literary agent wouldn't hurt, either.
_________________________________________________________________________
CHAPTER ONE
23 Neptune 4193, Berent Station,
Within the Necklace Unrestricted Commercial Zone.
The Zoetrope Club was nestled into the entertainment district of
Berent Station's Alshain City. Berent was inside an asteroid; a fifty
kilometer diameter sphere hollowed out of the rock. Berent rotated on one
axis to create artificial gravity for its inhabitants. Cities, farmland,
and parks curved gracefully along the inside wall, and if you weren't
accustomed to it, you'd feel a little uneasy to see more cities, farmland,
and parks kilometers over your head. 'Up' was towards the center of the
sphere, 'down' away out into space. Berent was big enough to have its own
weather system, and the early evening rains had come and gone at their
customary time.
Zoetrope was currently on the night side of Berent, as huge mirrors
reoriented sunlight piped in from space towards other districts. Crowds
of nocturnal creatures prowled the rain slicked streets and balcony
flyouts. Neon shone red and blue against the macadam, mingling with the
dancing lights of holograms from the clutter of billboards that lined the
rooftops. The traffic was mostly on the ground, though the occasional flyer
zipped by overhead with enough frequency to keep the air moist with tiny
droplets swept up in their wake.
In keeping with its heritage as the one time seat of a powerful
pirate kingdom, the people of Berent were as varied as the stars of the
Cluster. Belters and rockjacks fresh from a tour in the vast asteroid
fields of the Necklace caroused with sailors flush with liberty cash.
Corporate types getting away from the mundanities of life on nearby
Lodestone mixed business with pleasure in the sound insulated booths.
Mercenaries and merchant marines spun yarns of their travels and drank
the night away.
The music pulsing from the speaker stacks was mostly core-ward big
label offerings. Berent's local scene was in a bit of a decline of late
as the talented newcomers left home for the Core Systems in the Mercer
Kingdom and the 7SF. It was also far too loud, but that was the standard
in nightclubs everywhere. Escape from the noise was in the form of one
of the club's various alternative rooms such as the ambient room, the
gaming room, and the smoking lounge.
A young knight strolled into the club with his brick red cape
and the smell of rain from outside billowing in behind him. He wore a
magnificent heirloom sword on his belt next to a sleek black machine
pistol. A beautiful Angel strolled with him arm in arm. She was young, as
was her master. More than likely they had grown up together. Angels cost
a great deal of money, and to keep them in their maturation chambers
until they grew up was too dear a price for many these days.
As the couple walked past the bar, a headhunter with too much jet
juice for so tiny a brain made a lewd comment to the girl. With a whirl
of silk and steel, the knight's sword was pressed against the mercenary's
throat. The drunk stammered an apology, and the blade was withdrawn
wordlessly. The two may have been children compared to most in the club,
but they were also deadly warriors raised for combat.
Merl Dryzwicke, the owner and proprietor of Zoetrope, replaced his
lightning pistol into its place under the bar. Alimikesh was supposed to
keep trouble out of the club. The Nssgrnn and his staff were supposed to
be the best security on Berent. They kept the wealthy corporate types happy
and safe among Berent's volatile populace.
It wasn't but a few moments after the knight had passed when Alimikesh
appeared next to the drunk and offered in a deep rasping voice to get him a
cab back to the docks. A bipedal reptilian over two meters tall was a hard
being to ignore, particularly when the normally blue beaded scales on his
neck became a bright salmon pink, and the drunk and his companions complied
without a scene. Merl grumbled and went back to work, swearing that one day
he'd get tired of barbacking and retire to the manager's office like a
normal person.
James Reno sipped an ice water and lime from his upper deck booth
and watched the free fall dance zone with half interest. He had a fall
of blonde hair over his right eye. A long pink scar ran down his left
eye from his socket to his cheekbone. The faint glow of reflected stage
spots glimmered in the left orb. While the deep blue of the left iris
matched the color of the right perfectly, it was not difficult to determine
that the left eye was artificial. It was simply too luminous at odd times
to miss.
Seated next to him was a hulking bronzed Giant with shoulder length
red-brown hair and an outrageous handlebar mustache. He gulped greedily
from a four-liter iron tankard containing his beverage of choice: Olde
Blog Dark Bheer. He belched, and the booth shook appreciatively.
James was used to his comrade's odious habits. He complimented the
Giant on his fine form, and returned his gaze to the dance zone. He
spied a character dressed in a motley pattern jumpsuit. The man floated
up to the booth.
There was no doubt, it could only be Phineas T. Boggsworth.
He grinned his usual happy grin and doffed his floppy green hat to
James and his companion, revealing a frizzy brown globe of hair. The burly
man harrumphed, and took a massive hit from the beerstein.
"Well hello to you too, Griswold!" Phineas said in his cheerful
singsong voice. The yellow smiley button on the breast of his dark green
cloak fairly glowed in the pale blue light of the upper deck.
Griswold belched again. "Ah didn't say hello to ya!" He slammed
the beerstein down on the table, sloshing the dark foamy brew.
Phineas smiled a radiant smile guarenteed to raise the Giant's
blood pressure a few points. "Sure you did! Your way of saying hello is
unique!" He then leaped backwards several meters as Griswold's massive
fist lunged out at him.
James laughed. Some things were a constant with Phineas, and Griswold
baiting was one of them. The Giant's fingers dug into the black stone of the
table next to him. Time for Phineas to leave.
"Phineas, see if you can round up the others."
"Ayup," Phineas replied. He bowed low for them, especially for Griswold,
and floated down to the lower deck. Griswold muttered a few choicer curses
into his beer, and was restrained from leaping over the table to kill him by
the promise of another round from James. James found it was easier to keep
his mouth shut when he was filling it with something.
Phineas found Floyd with Weird Harold and Crazy Eddie in the club's
ambient room. The old psionic and the two spacers were relaxing to some
of Zoetrope's more sensual sounds. Floyd was smoking something not exactly
tobacco, and seemed a bit more laid back than usual, which is to say he was
feeling fairly toasty. He was so loose that his long white mustache and
beard and his bushy brows seemed to wilt on his face.
Weird Harold adjusted the lavender shock of hair that fell past his
nose to regard the motley dressed man. Crazy Eddie cocked his head.
"What's going on, man?" Harold droned in a slightly stoned monotone.
Unlike Floyd, Harold didn't need recreational psychotropics to sound that
way.
"James wants us," Phineas replied.
"Work?" Eddie asked.
"Ayup."
"We'll be right up," Eddie grinned. "Harold, gimme a hand with the
old man. He's nodding again."
Weird Harold helped Floyd to his feet. The old psionic brushed his
black sunglasses up from his eyes, then thought better of it. Even in the
dimly lit ambient room, his dialated pupils let in far too much light.
"Whoa... Too bright."
The sunglasses went back into place, and he gave the two spacers
an unnerving grin.
Phineas left the two to deal with Floyd as he continued on his errand.
He found Andy Seraphim at a booth talking shop with a few engineers
from the CNS Robin McCoy, a frigate in the Coalition Navy. There were times
when Phineas wondered if Andy was completely satisfied with his decision to
muster out with Eddie and Harold after the war. Andy paid for the last
round of drinks, and made for the upper deck as Phineas made his own rounds
for the rest of the gang.
Despite the annoyingly peppy Spacetones sounds of ROY G. BIV pulsing
over the focused sonic stacks, Phineas' keen ears picked up Antonio
Dominique's flirting with phenomenal precision. His latest attempt at
conquest was a salarymaid who worked for one of the big mining
conglomerates on Lodestone. She had an end-of-tour hungry look, and
the handsome Antonio was doing an impression of a wlling supper. Phineas
hated to interrupt, but he had his orders.
Antonio took it better than he thought. Perhaps he wasn't as
interested as Phineas believed. Then again, because he fancied himself
a lady's man, Antonio preferred a challenge now and then.
Paul, Axley, and Virgil were playing cards with some rockjacks in
the noisy gaming room. The two ex-marines and former gunner's mate were
cleaning the rockjacks out. Paul looked up from his hand and blew a
blue-grey smoke ring over Phineas's head.
"What's up, Funnyman?" Paul growled.
"James wants us all on the upper deck," Phineas replied cheerfully.
"We gettin' paid?" Paul asked gruffly, brushing his hand through
burrs of short salt-and-pepper hair. They'd been a little short on cash
after repairing the latest breakdown on their starship, The Antichrist,
and no regular source of income had been available.
"I think so!" Phineas replied.
"Well then, we'll be right up," Axley said, and finished his beer.
"Not yet, Arclight," Paul scowled. "We have a game to finish."
Phineas bowed for them and left the back room to find the last of
their number, R'Mallo.
Phineas found the ratalsha along the main bar with a few other
ratalshas. Their spider silk fine manes wafted in the breeze of the
ceiling fans, and their tails swished lazily at their cleft-toed feet.
R'Mallo was easy to distinguish from his comrades by his huge and
luminous green eyes and his calico mane. The tattoos around his eyes
accentuated the natural coloring of the skin and short fine hair on
his face. They were Tarshiiran tattoos, the mark of a warrior clan.
His comrades were of a darker color, and their eye tattoos, Phineas
recalled, were from the Sir'pan Ra warrior clan. Sir'pan Ras were a rare
sight this far from the Ratalshan Sphere, but then again, so was a
Tarshiira. R'Mallo was engaged in a song with them.
Phineas hated to interrupt, but again, he had his orders.
R'Mallo didn't seem to mind. He excused himself from his Sir'pan Ra
comrades, and followed Phineas back to the upper deck. As they waited for
two men to rise up the gravity lift, R'Mallo caught sight of someone
maddeningly familiar.
Phineas nudged him. "What is it, R'Mallo?" He asked.
"I thought I saw someone in the crowd. I'll be with you in a minute."
Phineas smiled and floated up the lift. "Ayup!"
R'Mallo turned and started for the crowded dance floor. **If she's
here, just what are you going to do?** he thought to himself. **Probably
nothing. What could you do? It's been years and she's probably forgotten
about you. Besides, she's trying to *expose* you.**
On the dance floor scores of people were moving to the eclectic
Gyre sounds of Nowhere But Up. R'Mallo didn't care for the band himself.
He didn't see her anywhere on the floor, or floating in the free-fall
zone above. He sighed, and started back to the upper deck lift.
**With any luck I'm imagining things.**
James and Griswold made room for the others as they gathered around
the table. Paul puffed absently on his cheroot as they waited for R'Mallo.
The serving girl came up to the table with a huge tray of drinks for them.
She set them down at each place. She hefted another huge iron
tankard of Blog for Griswold, and another ice water and lime for James.
She winked at James when he saw the folded slip of paper under his drink,
then rubbed seductively against Phineas as she set down a glass of pink
lemonade for him. The motley dressed man turned scarlet and nearly oozed
to the floor.
"Aw get up, ya' stoopid git!" Griswold bellowed to him. His voice
shook the glasses on the table. "Ya gets hit on by a good-lookin' broad,
and ya' gets all weak in th' knees!"
Phineas continued to blush furiously as the girl laughed and left
them with a bouncy stride. From their vantage at the end of the booth,
Antonio and Crazy Eddie watched appreciatively as she left. She was an Ayra,
one of the engineered races of humans from an ancient time before the
colonization of the Cluster.
Her ears were flared and pointed at the tips for better hearing in
low density atmospheres, and her violet eyes fairly glowed in the blue
lighting of the upper deck. Violet eyes were the giveaway of Ayra heritage.
They were a manufacturer's trademark. It wasn't so much the exotic color
of her eyes the two were interested in, as much as it was her long slender
legs and the tight miniskirt she wore.
"You guys finished drooling at our contact?" James asked with a grin.
"And you weren't..." Eddie riposted.
"Never said I wasn't," James said with a smile. "I just asked if you
were finished."
"Maybe," Antonio said, catching one last glimpse as she drifted down
the lift.
"Don't bother," Axley chuckled. "She only has eyes for the Funnyman."
Phineas blushed again.
"Ye gods, whut a waste," Griswold rumbled.
Paul finished his smoke and crushed it out on the sole of his boot.
"That our next job?" he asked in a voice made gravelly by years of
breathing powered armor suit air and cleaning chemicals.
James looked at the slip of paper. "Seems that way," he replied.
He continued to read. "Looks like we might be heading dockside on this
one."
"Local? I like it already." Virgil chirped.
"Yeah, until the inevitable disaster happens, and then we become
personas non gratas on Berent for awhile." Crazy Eddie added.
"Well, just what does it say?" Antonio asked. If this was going to
waste his time, he'd leave and go down to the floor again.
"Our client wants to retrieve an item from a competitor that was
stolen from him. It seems the offending party is the Badlanding
Mercantile Co. That name ring any bells for you?"
"The Ork Nazis?" Antonio cried. "Dear Lord, I thought we had enough
of those guys!"
Griswold cracked his knuckles. "Nope, ah never kin get enough o'
those clowns."
"How much?" Paul asked, bottom line as usual.
"Two hundred thousand in Juno Crowns for safe return of the item,
an Optical Holographic Memory block. The OHM is being held in their
office down on the docks. The fourth floor according to this. There's
a map to follow if we take the job."
"They know so much about it, man, why don't they get it themselves?"
Weird Harold drawled in a monotone voice.
"Harold has a point," R'Mallo observed. His tail swished in agitation.
"They probably don't want to risk expulsion from Berent. Why should
our client get involved when he can pay a third party to take all the
risks?" Crazy Eddie said.
"Not that I'm complaining, but ain't two-hundred thou' kinda steep
for a little breaking and entering?" Paul observed. "What's the catch?"
"Well if you'd let me finish," James said, and waited for everyone
to pay attention. "It seems our client wants us to cause a lot of
destruction in the process."
"Terror and Mayhem Op?" Axley chirped excitedly at the thought.
"It's political," Paul warned. "Mark my words; we're playing
someone's power games for them."
"Ah could bust some ork heads fer two hunert thousand," Griswold
rumbled.
"You'd do it for nothing," Antonio shot back.
"I say we take the job. It's the only thing we have lined up at
the moment," Andy offered. "Work has been awful slow in case you've
forgotten."
"Sure, man, let's do it," Weird Harold droned.
"Fine," Paul said with a puff of blue smoke.
James looked around at the others. They all nodded in agreement. He
wrote on the slip of paper and touched a sensitive node on the table for
service.
The Ayra girl came up minutes later. She smiled at Phineas, who
turned red again and squirmed in his seat. James handed her his empty
glass with the paper in the bottom. She took it without a word and left.
Ten minutes later she was back with another round of drinks. A
certified credit voucher and a small data disc was placed casually next
to James' glass. The girl asked if there was anything else she could get
them, then brushed against Phineas again as she left.
James had to laugh. In combat, and just about any other time,
Phineas was absolutely fearless. The only thing that scared him was the
opposite sex. He was hopeless when it came to a pretty face.
"Well, we're on the job. I say we pay the Badlanding building a
visit." James said. He threw some plastic coated silver coins on the table
for a tip. It was bad luck to get stingy right before a mission.
* * *
Merl looked up from the bar to see a dozen hulking green ghahorkhas
in black synthleather and chains come in. Alimikesh was nowhere to be
found, and neither were the bouncers at the door. He undid the safety
catches on his lightning pistol once again.
Ghahorkahs, commonly known as orks both for their appearance and
general stupidity, were little more than stone age tribal gangs that
didn't get a chance to develop a culture of their own before the human
race threw them suddenly into the interstellar age. As a consequence
they became an even more violent parody of humanity; aping them enough
for a handout, and stealing and killing when they couldn't get that
much.
On the rare occasion where a particularly intelligent ork came
along, he was usually beaten to death by his simpler cousins. Rarer
still was the intelligent ork who could slug it out as good as he got.
Because of this, most ork gangs formed and collapsed in a constant whirl
of anarchy and despotism.
These orks were different.
These were Ork Nazis.
The Ork Nazis were started by that rare breed of intelligent and
strong ork that fortunately don't come around very often. His name was
unpronounceable, and so he went by the puzzling nickname of 'Hotsie Totsie.'
Totsie became the leader of a tribe of orks and forged them into a huge
criminal syndicate.
Because he could actually read (thanks to a human sponsored welfare
project aimed at making the shiftless orks productive members of society),
he had studied the humans he meant to conquer for a means of controlling
them. Fear and force were the great motivational tools of the ork mind,
and so in his searches through human history he came across an ideal model
for his gangs.
He kept them unified under a common identity, making them 'nazis'
from ancient human history. These 'nazis' had managed to sweep the whole
of human civilization into war, and shaped future events for centuries
after their fall. The name 'nazi' had become part of the human language
synonymous with evil, ruthless force, and terror. They symbolized power
and the idea of a 'master race' that was destined to rule above all.
This was precisely the idea Totsie needed to keep his gangs together.
He gave them 'uniforms,' a belief that they were the 'master race,' and
set them loose to fight their their way to the top of the slums and ghetto
sections of human space. From there, Hotsie used the resources he'd
acquired to launch himself into organized crime. Smuggling, drugs,
hijacking, extortion, he did it all, and his organization spread across
the stars of human space.
Now his gangs were on the loose in Berent. The Badlanding Mercantile
Co. was their front, and Totsie paid too many bribes for anyone to get
his company kicked off the station on a whim. Merl wished someone would
come to their senses.
Alimikesh still hadn't shown. Something was wrong. Merl was starting
to get worried. Zoetrope wasn't even paid for yet. The orks marched in and
headed for the booths on the far side of the dance floor, pushing and
shoving their way through everyone.
"Speak of the devils," Antonio said as they came down the lift.
"Don't start anything in the club," James said, holding Griswold's
bulging arm. "Merl might not forgive us this time. Let's get back to the
Antichrist."
"Ah won't starts nothin', but ah'm ah gonna finish it if it happens,"
Griswold replied.
The young knight and his Angel chatted with two Emerald Dragoon
mercenaries. The appearance of the Ork Nazis went unnoticed. The orks
spotted the Angel, and moved in.
The leader came up to the table. He held a swagger stick that buzzed
and threw sparks when he slapped it against the callused palm of his hand.
Two orks flanked their leader, each with knuckle-bangers in his fists.
"Give ya good price fer her," the ork leader said. "Six hundred; not
bad for used goods."
The Angel clutched her master's arm worriedly. The knight appeared
uninterested. "She's worth far more than you can hope to pay, my friend."
"Oh ho!" cried the ork, his beady red eyes lighting up. "So we're
friends, is it? You'll give her to me for nothin' then?"
"I suggest you take your companions elsewhere," the knight said.
His youthful face hardened in warning, and under the table, his sword
came loose in its scabbard.
The ork thought this was hilarious. He laughed coarsely at the young
knight. His two flankers rushed them.
The Angel knew when the orks would come before they did. Her mind
was one with her master's, and his sword was out before they took half
a step. He jumped up onto the table as the Dragoons jumped up with him.
The blade cut into the closer ork's belly in a splash of black ichor.
The second ork swung his fist in a haymaker that failed utterly to
connect. The knight jumped out of the booth and up onto the seatback,
his Angel's hand in his.
The first ork gurgled a curse before falling over. The leader and
the other flanker yelled angrily for their companions to help. The club
became a riot in an instant as patrons yelled and screamed and ran to
get out of the way. The DJ's cries for calm went ignored.
Merl pulled the lightning pistol and came around the bar. Two of
his girls ran into him trying to get away from the melee and bowled him
over.
**Where the hell is Alimikesh?**
James couldn't stop Griswold. The 2.3 meter tall Giant was rushing
into the fray before he could say a word. He couldn't stop Paul, Axley,
Antonio, or Phineas either. He shrugged and ran after them. Maybe they
could stop this and get out before the police arrived.
The knight was grabbed from behind as the orks rushed from all
sides. He cut one down with his sword before they dragged him to the
floor. His Angel screamed as they took her from his grasp. The Dragoons
were also grabbed from behind and pinned.
Merl got to his feet and leveled his lightning pistol. His shot
was a deafening thunderclap. A low power laser beam ionized a path of
air from the muzzle of the pistol to the leader's skull. A millisecond
later a bolt of electrons shot from the muzzle and into the ork's head.
Spirals of blue light swam around his body. His eyes lost focus for a
second, then he coughed and looked evilly at Merl.
**Sonofabitch has a shielded nervous system!** Merl thought, and
set his pistol to from 'stun' to 'blast.'
The knight's sword was stripped from his hand by one of the black
garbed nazis. The ork raised it over his head to chop the knight down
the middle. As the blade fell, a rapier reached in and turned it aside.
Antonio Dominique smiled daringly as the orks stared in disbelief.
Then Griswold barreled through them, throwing them around like toys.
The leader decided Merl and his silly lightning pistol would have to
wait. He drew a long knife and faced off against Antonio.
Axley and Paul got in close to the orks that were beating the fallen
knight, and worked them over with jump kicks. The satisfying sound of
boots on bone was followed by orks flying off their feet and hitting the
parquet floor with heavy thuds.
They got back to their feet as the two ex-marines helped the knight,
getting Paul and Axley's attention with guttural snarls.
"Shoulda brought my guns," Axley muttered to Paul.
"Ain't hindsight a bitch?" the older man replied, cheroot hanging
from his lip. "If you can't dazzle 'em with your brilliance..."
"...flatten 'em with your fists," Axley finished, and opened up on his
playmate with a one-two combination to the face.
Phineas leaped from table to table as the two orks with the Angel
made their escape. He was unarmed, but that didn't concern him in the
slightest. He slipped past the fleeing patrons with liquid ease. One
great tumbling leap put him ahead of the three. He spun around on his
heels and held his arm straight out -palm striking the larger of the
two orks.
The ork staggered as his nose gave way, but it wasn't the first
time he'd had it broken, and he held his ground. The second tried to
duck past with the Angel, but Phineas threw a spin kick that stopped
him in his tracks. The first ork, undaunted by the streams of hemocyanin
blood flowing from his nostrils, leaped at him with a scream. Phineas
stepped aside easily. The ork grabbed at empty air as he flew into
a table to the accompaniment of shattering glass.
Antonio had the skill, and more importantly, had the reach over
the nazi leader. He turned away the long knife with practiced ease.
The ork however had strength and speed, and managed to deny Antonio
any debilitating strikes. Antonio had cut him several times, and
greenish black ichor flowed freely from his wounds.
Lacking a firearm, James drew his plasmasaber. With a squeeze of
the haft, a telescoping blade of titanium-tungsten-nickel alloy flicked
out. A crackle of crimson plasma suddenly sprang from the blade, sparkling
in the dim light of the club. One of the braver orks came at him with
a curved shortsword. James cut the sword and the ork's forearm in two
with a sparkling stroke. The shrill scream of the ork was drown out
by the sirens of the police outside.
Paul dropped his ork with a knifehand strike to the bridge of the
nose. Axley decided to stop tap dancing on his playmate's face when the
cops came charging in with stun batons and pepper spray. With the odds
a bit more even, the Dragoons managed to turn the tables on their
assailants.
"Time to go!" James yelled.
"It's over already?" Axley complained.
James and Company snatched up the knight and Angel as the cops
fought past the last clusters of fleeing patrons. The Berent Police
were covering the entrance. The orks were staggering to their feet.
They didn't have many options left to them.
James looked to Merl.
"Sorry about this, Merl," he offered.
The owner and proprietor of Zoetrope gave them tired looks and
pointed to the door into the kitchen.
"Beat it already."
They didn't need to be told twice, and leaped over the bar and
into the back of the club.
Merl Dryzwycke holstered his lightning pistol.
"Thank God! Another few minutes and my club would have been
destroyed."
"Orks, huh?" A police sergeant said. He certainly wasn't going to
trouble himself to look very hard when he had an easy scapegoat. More
police entered the club and began shackling the orks.
The sergeant looked around. "They start fighting amongst themselves?
I can't imagine who'd do this to them."
"You'd be surprised." Merl muttered.
"How's that?" The sergeant asked, half hearing him.
"Nevermind," Merl said almost to himself.
Crazy Eddie and the crew of Antichrist waited out in the street
with Floyd and R'Mallo. James and the rest walked out of the alley with
the knight, his Angel, and the Dragoons. Crazy Eddie shook his head sadly.
"You guys just can't resist a fight, can you?"
"Aw hell, ah wuz jus' gettin' started when the cops came," Griswold
grumbled.
The knight was spared serious harm. His Angel was shaken but fine.
Weird Harold hailed them a cab from the flyer balcony, as the Dragoons
parted company and drifted off into the night. James helped the two into
the cab. The Angel noticed the ring he wore on his right hand. A ten
pointed crimson starsword made of tiny rubies lay over onyx on a ring
of gold.
"You're a Crimson Sword Knight!" she cried in surprise.
"We won't forget this, Sir," the knight added. "My brothers in the
Order of the Juno Cross won't either, I promise."
"Just forget about us if the police happen to question you later on
this," James replied.
"We will. Go with Light," the Angel said as the cab started up into
the flyer traffic. The cabbie wrenched his flyer around in midair to
avoid the higher level airblocks set up by police cars floating above
the nightclub.
"Let's beat it, man," Weird Harold said. More police were arriving
outside the Zoetrope as he spoke.
CHAPTER TWO
Antichrist was a war surplus Horizon class scout. The Horizon was
common as a shuttle and in-system transport, and there were at least two
hundred Scout models plying interstellar space as tramp freighters. This
particular Horizon had seen action in battle dating back twenty years.
Crazy Eddie had been its pilot and Captain since the Coalheart Pirate
Campaigns ten years previous.
They walked up the nose ramp. The smells of old paint, hydraulics,
and the odd smell from the air recycler greeted them. The Antichrist was
not even close to factory new, but in testament to the durability of the
Horizon design, it was still going strong.
"I'll check our messages," Eddie said, and climbed the ladder from
the nose compartment to the cockpit.
The rest headed aft into the centerline compartment. The centerline
compartment was a long and wide passageway that had a kitchenette, a small
living area and two sets of double bunks set into the starboard outboard.
The deck was littered with dirty laundry. The compartment reeked of eau de
locker room.
Further aft were four small staterooms with double bunks. A head with
shower and a storeroom were aft of the staterooms. A ladder well led up
to a defunct gunnery blister, and another led down into the armory/docking
compartment. Farthest aft was a tiny Engineering workstation and a
fold-down machine shop.
In The Antichrist's final incarnation prior to its life in the
private sector, the docking compartment once held a very large superluminal
starfighter, a Mantis scout. Now it held two starfighters; Blackshrike,
and the Flamechaser series fighter, J'Razin Kan. Forward of the docking
compartment was a small cargo bay for holding their vehicles and large
equipment items.
James immediately went aft and below to the docking compartment.
Blackshrike sat ready; black, white and silver trimmed might. The ten
pointed starsword of the Crimson Sword Knights was painted on the armored
canopy shield.
Blackshrike was a gift to him by King Edgar Falke of Burimundia,
the head of his Order, and Doctor Hayato Tsugumo of the Lullabye Mountain
Group, the fighter's manufacturer. There were certain obligations placed
upon him for accepting it, such as being at the King's call on a moment's
notice. James had balked at first at the thought that his freedom could
be cut short on Falke's whim, but the thought of going without Blackshrike
was enough to get him to agree.
* * *
Phineas and R'Mallo sat down on the lower bunk. Phineas pulled a
harmonica from the drawer under the rack. He started to play a few bars
when he noticed the look in R'Mallo's eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," R'Mallo replied.
"Did you find her?" Phineas asked.
R'Mallo's eyes widened in the ratalshan equivalent of the blush
reflex. "How do you know about her?"
"Well I don't know her by name, but I know it's a she because I
could sense your change of scent in the club. It's a sex pheromone,"
Phineas replied. "Your heart rate increased significantly as well."
"No use trying to conceal anything from you," R'Mallo said. "Yes, I
did see her. But not until the fight started in the club."
"What's her name?"
"Jintana..." R'Mallo said, and Phineas could feel the emotion behind
the words. "Jintana, daughter of Sol'ytzahn, son of Rishata."
Phineas jumped up. "Waitaminute!" he exclaimed. "Jintana Rishata?
The journalist for CNDW? The one that's been stalking us since the Lowman
Spur Strike?"
R'Mallo nodded sadly. "The same."
"R'Mallo! She's the one who started calling us 'Damage Incorporated.'"
R'Mallo nodded once again.
Phineas' voice dropped an octave.
"How long have you known her?"
"Since we were children," R'Mallo answered.
"Oh," Phineas said. He paused before speaking. The thrum of the
recirculation fans mingled with the sounds of heavy equipment jostling far
aft and below them.
"You love her?"
R'Mallo's eyes widened in the the blush reflex again. "I did... I
haven't spoken to her in nine years."
* * *
Jintana Rishata made her statement for the police, then went straight
to her hotel room to hyperwave a report to Santiago. The city of Miroirs
on Santiago was the home office for the Cluster News Data Web (CNDW). It
wasn't much right now, but her instincts told her that the fight in club
tonight was the start of a war. The Ork Nazis controlled a large percentage
of the dockside business on Berent through their Badlanding front. It was
possible someone was trying to muscle them out. There were elements in the
government of Berent that were as likely as any.
She faxed in her report in text format to the local affiliate. Then
she dialed up the manager on the personal line to request an A/V man. The
manager was eager to assist her, and promised her his best man. She
inquired if Jack Holland was on station. He wasn't. Jack Holland was on
assignment somewhere core-ward. She thanked the manager for his cooperation
and disconnected.
Jack Holland was the best A/V man in the business as far as Jintana
was concerned. They worked well together, and had done some bang up work
in the past. It was Jack's talents that had made Jintana's career on her
first major assignment, covering the Treaty of Manassas negotiations
several years ago.
She decided she would browse around down by the docks tomorrow.
Interesting things had a way of turning up when she was around. The
Firelords looked after her.
* * *
"What's going on, Nathan?" Crazy Eddie asked.
Antichrist's Artificial Intelligence answered over the cockpit
speakers. "I have a message for you."
"Me specifically?" Eddie asked.
"No, Captain Edward, the message is addressed for Damage
Incorporated," Nathan replied.
"Put it up on the swing arm." Eddie said. He took a seat in the
pilot's chair.
The swing arm display over his head crackled to life. The picture
was snowy and garbled. Crazy Eddie slugged the display, which turned the
picture upside down before righting itself and clearing.
He read the message to himself. Then he punched a button on the
commo panel to print it out.
"The money isn't great, but I think we'll look into it," he said
to himself.
Crazy Eddie took the printout and went below. Paul was there at the
bottom of the ladder supervising Axley and Virgil performing maintenance
on the chin turret quad laser array. The Antichrist could expect trouble
at any time in the Necklace with Coalition patrols few and far between.
Having the ship's weapons and defensive systems in full readiness had
saved them twice in the last two months.
"What's that?" Paul asked.
"Seems we have a job lined up," Crazy Eddie answered.
"How's the money?"
"Nothing big. A decent advance, all expenses paid. As far as cash
goes it's not very much, but it's steady work and a chance to get out of
here for awhile. The other side of the Divide is always nice when you have
to make a run for it."
"Where?" Paul asked, lighting up a smoke. Blue clouds billowed from
his nose and mouth.
"Dantiin system. Third planet. Locals call it Galloway. It's a joint
Rim States/Jasrecht colony under the Manassas Treaty. Seems the Rim States
colonists are having trouble with the Jasrecht colonists, and they want
us to come over and act as 'advisors' for their militia. I'll have Nathan
pull up a profile on the Dantiin system, and ask around on the newsnets
for any skinny on what's going on."
"Sure. James know about it?"
"Not yet. He's probably aft with his fighter."
"Well go an' tell him about it. I don't think he'll have any problems
with it. Meantime, we need to prep for this Terror and Mayhem Op tomorrow."
He thumped Axley on the head. "Goddammit Arclight, you kludge that
buswork up an' I'll have yer ass! After you and Virge finish up that
nightmare you call maintenance, I need you in the armory to lend a hand
with the armor detail. And spread the word that I need everyone to drop
by for a few minutes to make sizing adjustments and preload setpoints for
the actuators."
Axley's face brightened. "We're gonna try out the Mercury suits?"
"Might as well, they're paid for."
CHAPTER THREE
The Docks occupied the volume of Berent's sphere six kilometers
from the sunward end bulkhead to the first habitation areas. Starships
lay at anchor floating within the zero gravity area at the center of the
sphere's axial rotation. Shuttles and launches sat on landing pads on
the inner surface of the sphere. Workbees, tenders and other flyers
danced an exotic zero gravity ballet around the starships as they plied
freight, crew, and passengers from the surface to the floating ships.
Massive connex boxes were stacked in the yards waiting for shipment.
Most bore the marks of the big freight hauling and industrial companies,
the rest were a multitude of independents or "indies." Berent was a free
trade zone, and indies prospered in the station's lessez-faire atmosphere.
The station's Port Authority was a large tower with long branches
that split off into numerous finger piers like a giant steel tree.
Starships docked with these piers ranged from short range interstellar
shuttles to the larger passenger liners. Beyond the tower tree,
dominating the end bulkhead, were eight massive double access doors.
Berent could have utilized exotic force field technology to hold
in its precious atmosphere, but exotic systems didn't work out to be as
reliable as doing things the hard way. The lives of four million
inhabitants weighed heavier on the station's managers than the dubious
convenience of a force field lock.
Because of the massive manual airlocks, arrival and departure
schedules on Berent were set in stone. Miss your departure time, and you
were stuck inside the space station until your turn came around the next
time. This was usually a thirty hour wait, and so they had to plan the
timing of their visit to the Badlanding building down to the minute.
Weird Harold's spindly fingers played across his touch sensitive
display panel. He contacted the Port Authority Operations computer and
sent it their priority departure pass. The pass cost good money, but
would give them top priority on the departure time block of their choice.
The computer returned his request with a Departure Clearance number for
the time they had chosen.
James, Paul, Phineas, and Axley were dressed out in their Mercury IIa
powered armor suits. The suits were used by Coalition Pathfinders and by
the Ranger Anti-Terrorist Teams. They were light (for powered armor), had
high mobility and gravity drive propulsion, and were proof against small
arms fire. R'Mallo wore a IIr suit, which was adapted for the ratalshan
physiology, and Griswold had the oversize IIg for his Giant's frame.
The Mercury surrounded it's wearer with an exoskeletal frame and
synthetic musculature to augment the wearer's strength and endurance.
Over the frame and muscles were plates of hard ceramic and polycarbonate
armor. Sensors consisted of a telescopic bifocal unit with IR-Visible-UV
spectrum range, lowlight magnification, and floating gunsight display.
A twin parabolic microphone suite gave the Mercury's wearer excellent
hearing capability. A small phased array radar in the crown of the helmet
could track thirty-six fist sized targets to a range of two kilometers.
Standard armament was a hand held heavy weapon such as a 20mm automatic
cannon, heavy plasma gun, or a particle beam rifle, plus leg mounted
grenade launcher tubes, and an optional 12-rack RPG over the shoulders.
The powered armor team slipped down the nose ramp of The Antichrist
and disappeared into the relative darkness of the docks. Berent's rotation
would keep it on the nightside for another hour. They wanted to attack in
daylight to ensure maximum terror and chaos, as per their employer's
wishes. Antonio and Floyd would leave at daybreak for the Badlanding
building.
Early morning on the docks was quiet, only a few craft flitted
around way above them in the kilometers high 'sky'. Clouds began to
form in fleecy white whorls as Berent's climate system introduced fresh
moist air from massive circulating fans on the spaceward end of the
station. The breeze picked up, cool and refreshing to early morning
risers. A regular joke on Berent's local news and info channel was the
wind speed and direction: the wind always came from the same direction,
and yet every day someone entered it into the data bank.
The Badlanding Mercantile Building was an uninspiring six story
structure that looked as if someone had built the thing like a stack
of ferrocrete pancakes; throwing a floor on, then another and another.
Warehouses and huge pallets of connex boxes surrounded it. Fantrucks
and powered loader suits sat idle in a lot next to the building. No
one was about at this time in the morning, but then orks weren't
notorious for being morning people.
Antonio and Floyd made long circuits around the docks for another
hour or so. Floyd smoked his pipe. Antonio looked around for trouble.
Vendors began to set up kiosks, hawking everything from breakfast to
pirated computer software. The two men decided they would frequent the
booths near the Badlanding building and wait.
The powered armor team waited on nearby rooftops. James scanned the
building and its surroundings with his telescopic bifocal unit. R'Mallo
covered the opposite side of the building. Axley and Paul scanned in
through Badlanding's windows. The time for the attack would be 08:00
local time. It was 07:55.
Antonio clicked his commo mic twice, the signal for all clear.
Phineas floated over to the Badlanding building's fourth floor using
his suit's gravity drive. Axley and Paul primed riot gas grenades in
their suits' leg mounted racks. James and the rest waited, watching.
At 07:59.52 R'Mallo spotted something down on ground level. He
zoomed in using his bifocal suite. An attractive ratalshan woman in a
swan grey bodysuit was making her way through the crowds. Trailing her
at arms length was a human with an assortment of electronic gear; A/V
recording equipment. The CNDW logo was plainly visible on the gear.
Antonio spotted her at once, admiring her sleek form and unconscious
grace as she moved through the crowds. Her mane reached down to her
slender waist in golden brown waves. Her tail swished lazily at her
feet. **Truly a magnificent specimen of ratalshan female,** he thought.
**Too bad she wants to put our faces on every newspage in the Cluster.**
Before he could offer warning, the clocks ticked 08:00.00. Phineas
blew open a window on the fourth floor with his particle beam rifle,
Nemesis. Plastic shattered with a thunderclap that startled everyone
on the ground below.
Phineas tumbled in through the window. Two stunned orks in black
synthleather went down to swift punches in the gut. Phineas followed
up by blowing down the door with another blast from Nemesis. R'Mallo
followed close behind to cover him.
Paul and Axley crashed through their respective windows to end up
in a common hallway. Both launched riot gas grenades, which made loud
pops as they went off. They converged in the middle, kicking down orks
who came out to investigate.
Armor shod boots to the stomach ensured that each ork got a good
lungful of the stuff, which was a nasty mix of tear and vomit agents.
Tear gas that incapacitated humans was like breath spray to an ork, but
the vomit agents proved especially deleterious against them. They began
a chorus of heaving and retching that Paul and Axley ignored in favor
of the howl of their chainswords.
Chainswords were the close-in weapon of choice by Coalition marine
Stormtrooper Battalions. Stormtroopers had the dubious honor of spaceship
boarding and the repelling of boarders. The chainsword was useful in
cutting down doors, airlock seals, and of course, people. The diamond
edged tungsten-carbide steel cutting bands whipped around swordlike
blades a meter in length.
Paul and Axley made short work of the doors, cutting them into
large slabs of plastic that clattered to the floor. Orks inside met
them with automatic rifles. The roar of six fully automatic weapons cut
loose in the small room. A hail of bullets slammed into them, careening
off the heavy plates of laminated polycarbonate and spraying everywhere.
Two orks went down with their own bullets inside them.
Paul launched another grenade point blank into an ork's chest,
bowling him over. Riot gas belched from the grenade and filled the
room as Axley, not wanting to be outdone, launched himself at full
jets into the other three. The three ork nazis were bounced against
the far wall with heavy thuds and toppled over in a retching heap.
James and Griswold stormed the third and fifth floors respectively.
Griswold bellowed laughter as he beat the ork nazis senseless with his
armorshod hands and threw them out of windows. Within minutes the orks
he couldn't reach immediately had fled into the chaos of the fourth
floor.
James found the electrical panel on the third floor and severed
it with his plasmasaber. The lights went out, to be replaced by a few
battery operated emergency fire lights. The thunder of heavy boots on
the floor below him warned of reinforcements. He decided to wait at
the stairwell for them.
When the ork nazis rushed up the stairs wearing gas masks and
hastily donned suits of mesh armor, James kicked the inward swinging
stairwell door into them. The heavy door stopped the lead nazis in
their tracks with wet thuds. Their comrades rushed blindly into them
from behind, piling them up against the door. Guttural curses sounded
over the din of Axley's wild whoopings and the howl of chainswords
above.
James shut the door, and the orks recovered enough to get steaming
angry at him. They beat on the door and tugged at it with all their
immense strength. It wouldn't open. James held it shut with his suit
limbs, locking the joints. The synthetic musculature didn't fatigue,
so endurance wasn't a question.
When the orks became angry enough to actually start to force the
doors open in spite of the suit, James triggered the jets, slamming them
shut once again. With his right arm he jammed the lit plasmasaber through
the door. The plasma wreathed titungstenel blade cut through the door
with a hiss. A high pitched squeal of pain followed, and the orks let go
of the door.
Jintana Rishata was the first to hit the ground when the thunderclap
of Phineas' beamrifle echoed across the docks. She was also the first to
get up, collaring her A/V man to get on his feet and start recording.
Smoke poured from upper story windows, and the sounds of pandemonium
could be plainly heard. She took a small A/V 'corder for herself and
started for the front door.
The ork nazi reinforcements from other parts of the docks came in
flyers and fancars. A large black flyer sedan with red flags on the hood
made circles of the building, its occupants firing randomly into the
windows as it orbited the fourth floor. Two fantrucks loaded with Hotsie
Totsie's black synthleather Gestapo pulled up and disgorged two dozen
orks. Far in the distance, the sound of the Port Authority and Berent
Police sirens wailed.
Phineas found the safe exactly where he was told it would be. He cut
it out of the wall with his flamberg�. He blew open the safe with a small
lump of plasmex while R'Mallo covered the door. Within were four OHM cubes.
He stuffed all of them into an armored compartment on his hip.
"Okay guys!" He sang cheerily. "I have the goodies!"
That was good enough for James. He abandoned the stairwell door and
shot down the hall on his suit's jets. Orks burst through the door howling
obscenities and spraying random gunfire everywhere. James angled around
the corner with his jets in time to avoid a blast from an ork beamrifle.
The bolt of charged particles blew a hole through the exterior wall thirty
centimeters in diameter.
Axley cackled over his suit's external mic as he chased panicked orks
in circles around the fourth floor with his chainsword. Paul stood by in
an open door as they ran past, his helmet faceshield open to allow him to
light up a cheroot. The riot gas had cleared with all the broken windows
and holes in the walls, but there was still enough left to give Paul an
unusual flavor to his smoke. He found he rather fancied it, and puffed
away as Axley chased the orks past him again in another lap.
He collared Axley as Phineas' commo came across the net. The orks
continued on without him in their circuit of the building. Axley cocked
his helmeted head at Paul in a questioning posture, his faceplate was
painted with a leering skull.
"Time to go, Arclight," he puffed.
A beamrifle bolt exploded through the wall close by.
"Aww, I was just gettin' into it, too," Axley groused in reply.
"Shag it before those morons figure out that you ain't chasin' 'em,"
Paul ordered.
"Aye," Axley said dejectedly, and jumped through the window. Paul
spat out his cheroot and replaced his faceplate. Then he jumped out the
window as well.
Griswold barreled through two orks armed with auto rifles, laughing
at them as they spent their magazines uselessly at him. He clotheslined
them with his massive armored arms, and jerked them out the window with
him. His Mercury IIg had a gravity drive, which allowed him to stay
airborne. The orks weren't as fortunate, and took a five story ride to
the pavement below.
The black flyer sedan whipped around the building as Damage
Incorporated jumped clear. Plasma guns from two orks hanging out of the
windows launched white hot shells of ionized matter in random bursts.
The two orks yelled for the driver to slow down so they could get a
decent shot. The Mercury suits hung in midair as James and the others
whirled around to shoot back.
Jintana trained her A/V 'corder up to capture the fight on disc.
She cursed to herself that the raiders were wearing powered armor, which
made it impossible to tell who they were. She was practically beneath
the flyer as it stopped to hover in midair.
Phineas came bursting through a window to land on the flyer's hood.
The smiley face painted on his faceplate glittered in the morning light.
The orks leveled their plasma guns at him, but not before he triggered
Nemesis. The beamrifle blew apart the passenger compartment in a storm
of charged particles and flame. The thunderclap report stunned Jintana
below as the flyer fell from forty feet above her.
Jintana looked up in senseless panic; ears and brain still ringing
from the beamrifle's report. An armored form swooped down, whisking her
up into its arms as the flyer crashed to the pavement where she had
stood a second earlier.
The flyer's crystal battery exploded as the vehicle crashed,
showering them with shrapnel and bright pink sparks of molten metal. The
figure in the Mercury suit sheltered her with his body as the shrapnel
rang off his armored backside.
"Let 'er rip, Axley!" James called as the flyer exploded.
"Aye!" Axley returned. Rocket-propelled grenades primed themselves
in his over-the-shoulder racks. He launched twelve HE grenades into the
building. The grenades' explosions ripped the building face off and
collapsed half the structure moments later.
"Time to bag," Paul called out, and they zipped away on gravity
drive into the heavy traffic of the busy docks.
* * *
He set her down on her feet some blocks away.
She looked at his faceplate, trying to see who her savior could
possibly be. The bifocal suite shifted focus to look back at her. The
figure released the locks with a hiss, and lifted the faceplate for her.
It was a ratalsha, and as she looked into his luminous green eyes
she knew who it was.
"<R-R'Mallo?>" she asked haltingly.
"<Are you hurt?>" he replied.
"<It's really you?>"
R'Mallo closed his eyes.
"<Yes, Jintana, it's me, R'Mallo.>"
He placed armorshod hands on her shoulders.
"<Are you hurt?>"
Jintana flinched at the contact. R'Mallo removed his hands in a rush
of embarassment.
"<No, not at all. Firelords, R'Mallo...It's been years,>"
"<I know.>" He looked at her and knew that he still loved her.
Jintana tried to contain her shock by asking questions.
"<R'Mallo, what are you doing here, in that, doing all this?>"
He looked away.
"<I can't tell you. Good-bye Jintana.>" **I love you!** He wished
he could say it to her.
He replaced his faceplate so she couldn't see the look of longing
and pain he felt just then. The police sirens were louder now. He began
to float on gravity drive.
"<R'Mallo, wait!>" she cried.
It took every bit of reserve he had to continue rising in the sky.
The police were just blocks away now and closing fast with a phalanx of
ambulances and fire engines behind them.
"<R'Mallo! Thank you for what you did for me>!" she cried as he
cleared the warehouses. He waved his hand to her and shot high into the
sky, losing himself in the clouds.
Jintana watched him go before walking back to the burning ruins of
the Badlanding building. Sometime during the confusion, her A/V man had
run away. She thought about punching him in the face when she caught up
with him. **Where was Jack Holland when you needed him?**
As she recorded the destruction of the Badlanding Mercantile
building she knew in her heart who was responsible. It was none other
than Damage Incorporated. There were even the letters 'D.I.' burned into
the pavement with a laser. She wondered if she should sue for proprietary
rights over the name she had given them.
What trembled within her more than anything though, was that R'Mallo
son of Mandiir was one of them. **How was that possible?** she thought.
There were no answers forthcoming.
* * *
Antonio dropped off a pouch containing the OHMs they had stolen
from the ork nazis. A few minutes later a woman sauntered by in a red
bodysuit. As Antonio eyed her appreciatively, she collected the pouch
and casually dropped a card on the ground. She caught a taxi moments
later and was gone.
Antonio collected the card, the credit voucher that was the other
half of their money. They couldn't access it for 48 hours while
representatives from their client inspected the OHMs for the one they
wanted. Damage Incorporated's fixer held the OHMs and the credit line
they would be paid through. The use of the fixer insured against
double-crosses, and they had one of the most reliable fixers on Berent
working for them.
The swordsman pocketed the voucher and joined Floyd in a cab back
to the Antichrist. They walked up the ramp as the Pier Services crew
finished disconnecting from the Horizon scout. James and Phineas greeted
them at the ramp.
"Everything turn out all right?" James inquired.
"We are flush," Antonio replied, holding up the voucher.
"Grand. We're lifting off in a few minutes, so get everything stowed."
Antichrist rose from the tarmac and into the crowded skies above the
docks. Crazy Eddie piloted the Horizon past the giant tree of the Port
Authority and into one of the station's eight airlocks. Air cycled out
of the huge lock, and an outer door opened into space. Antichrist drifted
clear on gravity drive before engaging its triplex main engine cluster in
huge blossoms of white plasma flame. After an hour of flight the Horizon
was cleared for superluminal transit.
Crazy Eddie engaged the hyperdrive, catapulting the scout into a
phenomenally higher energy state and disappearing into hyperspace with
a flash of hard radiation and light.
END OF PART ONE
Author's Excuses:
I began crafting this story in 1991 while I was a nub in Orlando, Florida
attending Naval Nuclear Field "A" School. It was my first significant work
of fiction. When I "finished," around 1995, it was handwritten on about 1500
pages of notebook paper, and STUFFED into two 3" d-ring binders. It was
close to 500,000 words in length.
Needless to say, when I went back to it not too long ago, it LOOKED like a
first work... I found myself asking the question "I *wrote* this crap?"
Even my wife, bless her heart, said that my writing had grown a great deal
since THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT first crawled from the graphite sticks of my
mechanical pencil onto the paper.
Writing a novel length original work is much more difficult than writing
fanfiction. I am sure of that. In fanfiction the details of characters and
their interactions have been worked out by their creator; all you have to do
is give them a story of your own and go. Your readers already identify with
the characters, and so you don't have to go to the trouble of creating them
from scratch.
With any luck you managed to get into the story, and developed a preliminary
feel for the characters. You know I write BIG stories, and many details
about the characters won't come out until later in the story. I ask you to
please hang in there, and hopefully I can keep things interesting for you as
these details come forth.
